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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25491163">International Practices</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/callizorb96/pseuds/callizorb96'>callizorb96</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015) RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1960s, Cold War, England (Country), Espionage, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Mission Fic, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, United States</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:13:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>46,216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25491163</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/callizorb96/pseuds/callizorb96</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>1966. Three years later. U.N.C.L.E. is no longer just a codename – it’s an established agency.<br/>Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryachin, Gaby Teller – agents on a mission to England. An unexpected figure; a plan gone wrong.<br/>Could that mysterious figure be the downfall of U.N.C.L.E.? Or is it merely the downfall of the world’s three greatest spies?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo/Gaby Teller</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Minor Complication</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>September 16th, 1966. </em>
</p>
<p>Gaby spread her legs on the grass and sighed in relief. Illya’s chest created a nice and relaxing pattern, slowly and softly rising and falling, moving her head as he breathed. Napoleon leaned on the back of the bench, with his eyes open, staring at the beautiful scenery ahead of him. The sun lethargically dived in the horizon, behind the neatly placed buildings of Birmingham, leaving the sky painted in a beautiful mauve shade. A soft breeze scooped Gaby’s loose hair; as she rested, Illya and Napoleon looked at the image with a macabre satisfaction.</p>
<p>It was always nice to rest like that after a mission. It was always relaxing to see Gaby’s loose hair because it signified the end of them pretending to be the people they had to be when they were spies. To be so free, so unapologetically themselves meant their mission was over – therefore, their troubles were over. Napoleon briefly looked at Illya and the two friends shared a tired smile.</p>
<p>They had spent almost fifteen days in Birmingham.</p>
<p>It was a nice city and it was rather beautiful, all right, however their jobs have been anything but easy and relaxing. The last mission in the list of the several ones they had taken ever since joining U.N.C.L.E. as a team, had been perhaps the most difficult, and for rather idiotic reasons at that.</p>
<p>Initially, their goal had been simple; all they had to do was approach a British socialite and his wife. The man, whose codename had been Striker, had recently began threatening the world by possessing a dangerous disc, one, allegedly, containing the personal information of every field agent of every major agency in the world. Naturally, Alexander Waverly had wanted his best agents dealing with this.</p>
<p>Napoleon would approach and charm Striker’s wife and buy them enough time to locate the disc, while Gaby would approach and flirt with Striker himself as a means of extraction. They needed to know exactly <em>how</em> much both Striker and his wife knew. And even though, technically, it should be Napoleon who should be looking for the safe in hopes of extracting the disc, the task had been set on Illya. It was voted unanimously as far easier to teach him how to unlock safes than how to make an older woman fall in love with him. The plan had been simple and easy; until it wasn’t.</p>
<p>Striker was a smart man; he hadn’t understood Gaby’s attention meant something sinister, but he had kept her on her toes for days. He usually cancelled their plans on the last minute or left their dates before anything substantial could happen. On the other hand, Striker’s wife had been extremely happy, ecstatic even, about Napoleon’s devoted attention. Instead of rushing out of their dates, she usually wanted <em>more</em>; forcing Napoleon to return to his hotel room in the early hours of the morning, empty handed but extremely tired nonetheless.</p>
<p>The constant setbacks and delays had begun playing with their nerves, especially Illya’s, since he had been the only one not <em>actually</em> doing anything, besides eavesdropping on Napoleon’s naughty dates. He grew tiresome with each passing day; swearing in Russian more often than necessary and sending warning looks to Gaby about the dangers meeting with ‘Striker’ were waiting for her, were she not careful.</p>
<p>It had only been mere hours ago, when their plan had finally come to fruition. It hadn’t been as smooth as they had hoped, though.</p>
<p>Their elusive tycoon had agreed to meet with Gaby and had promised her his undivided attention; his wife had also agreed to meet with Napoleon, thus allowing Illya enough time to search for the safe and remove its content, unnoticed and unharmed. Nice and easy.</p>
<p>Things had gone awry unexpectedly, however.</p>
<p>Gaby’s dress violently ripped off her without her consent and Illya’s reaction to her shriek, had caused a series of things to happen very quickly. The Russian spy had rushed to Gaby’s side, knowing very well that she wouldn’t be able to defend herself from a man much larger than her, before he had carelessly left the safe open and had accidentally pushed off a vase. Those sharp sounds were enough for everyone to realize something was wrong, while Striker had been surprised to see Illya burst through his bedroom’s door with an angry face. Illya’s fist found Striker’s face, but not before he had managed to scream for his guards to pursue the intruders.</p>
<p>Napoleon had barely had enough time to knock the wife unconscious and head for the safe himself, finally retrieving the precious disk. Then, they had barely had enough time to escape the mansion altogether and head to safety…</p>
<p>“Ah,” Napoleon suddenly sighed.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” Gaby asked him, without opening her eyes.</p>
<p>“I just can’t believe everything that has happened; <em>again</em>,” he replied.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Illya sighed back, softly caressing a tuft of Gaby’s hair away from her face.</p>
<p>Napoleon reached in his jacket and removed the small disc; he examined it for a few minutes before he chuckled and shook his head. “I can’t believe this whole mess was created by this little thing; <em>again</em>,” he repeated.</p>
<p>“It’s true what they say,” Gaby said, finally opening her eyes and leaving Illya’s comfortable embrace. “All great things come in small packages,” she playfully mused, sending Napoleon a wicked smile.</p>
<p>“You’re the expert,” he teased back with a smile.</p>
<p>“Yes, that’s all very funny,” Illya said, in a voice a little more serious. “I don’t think you should be holding it like that, though; not here,” he added in a warning tone.</p>
<p>“Why do you carry it around with you, anyway?” Gaby wondered as well, turning to look the man and hugging her knees to her chest.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t going to leave it unguarded at the hotel room, now, was I?” Napoleon asked in an ostensibly offended manner.</p>
<p>“No, I suppose you shouldn’t,” she replied. She paused then and rested her head on her knees before a yawn broke the silence of their group. Illya lovingly looked at her.</p>
<p>“We should return to our hotel,” he argued in a soft voice.</p>
<p>“We need some rest,” Napoleon agreed.</p>
<p>Illya helped Gaby on her feet and handed her the light jacket he had chosen for her to wear. Napoleon quickly hid the disc in his jacket’s inner pocket. They all took a moment to look around, making sure they hadn’t forgotten anything of importance, and then walked towards the exit of the park they had decided to rest, heading back to their hotel. Napoleon and Gaby playfully joked, pointing at the posters and neon signs that decorated Birmingham, while Illya followed them, deep in his thoughts.</p>
<p>A few minutes later, he stiffened; Gaby noticed him from the corner of her eyes. She stopped as well.</p>
<p>“Is everything okay?” she asked him in a soft voice.</p>
<p>Illya remained silent, looking at the ground while observing something they couldn’t see. Napoleon cautiously looked around but saw nothing. Gaby moved closer to Illya and held his arm.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” she asked in Russian, as calmly as she could.</p>
<p>“Someone’s following us,” Illya suddenly said, finally looking up.</p>
<p>“What?” Napoleon breathlessly mused.</p>
<p>At that moment, something happened. Even though the streets around them had been busy and loud on their own, a persistent hum caught their attention. It was a motorcycle, ridden by some mysterious figure. All three agents looked at the vehicle and the driver – the man was dressed completely in black, including gloves, heavy boots and a black helmet that covered his face completely. While Napoleon, Illya and Gaby discreetly tried to look at the mysterious figure, the man spotted them; he made a point of that by looking back at them and <em>following</em> them with his glance as he made his way past them. The man followed them with his glance for a few more seconds, before he sharply turned left on the street ahead of them, disappearing from their sight.</p>
<p>“This was the third time he passed by us,” Illya pointed out.</p>
<p>“Huh,” Napoleon mumbled, genuinely surprised Illya was right and not paranoid as usual.</p>
<p>“He was looking at us,” Gaby noticed, putting a tuft of her hair behind her ear.</p>
<p>“Do you think he’s one of Striker’s men?” Illya asked.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Napoleon replied, staring at the direction behind which the man had disappeared.</p>
<p>“He seemed to be… <em>waiting</em> for us,” Gaby noticed again.</p>
<p>“Indeed, he did,” Napoleon, noticed back.</p>
<p>“What should we do?” Illya wondered.</p>
<p>“We should go,” Gaby confidently said.</p>
<p>Napoleon looked at her, raising an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“So what if he is a Striker’s man?” she said, fixing her jacket on her shoulders. “He doesn’t stand a chance,” she added.</p>
<p>Gaby, without waiting for a response, began walking towards the direction the man had gone. Napoleon paused for a moment, looking at Illya’s troubled face. They exchanged a look of both fear and amusement, realizing Gaby was right. Besides, a part of them rather enjoyed her confidence in themselves. They quietly followed her.</p>
<p>The three agents turned left and followed the less crowded street. They knew that if the man had been indeed after them, he should be waiting for them somewhere around these parts. Illya protectively pulled Gaby closer to him while Napoleon confidently led the way. Suddenly, something shinned in the darkness. It was the motorcycle they saw before; the driver was nowhere to be seen. They continued walking, past the motorcycle, until they reached an empty space. At that moment, they realized what had happened.</p>
<p>They were nowhere near the crowded city, anymore. Instead, they were at the back of some buildings, in an area completely isolated and lit only by a few lights from the open windows of the flats around them. As the agents stopped and looked around, the cracking of a glass made them all turn around.</p>
<p>It was the man.</p>
<p>“Can we help you?”</p>
<p>Napoleon’s confident voice broke the silence and echoed in the outback around them. The man didn’t move.</p>
<p>“Hello?” Napoleon asked again.</p>
<p>As if taking a moment to assess the situation, or maybe calculate the risk, the man moved his shoulders back, taking a breath. He then began walking towards them, confidently and calmly. Illya, again protectively, pulled Gaby behind him, conveniently ignoring the offended and deadly look she threw at him. She, however, also conveniently, ignored to comment on it, as she realized he had begun nervously tapping his index finger on his thigh.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Napoleon suddenly advised.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, the man continued walking towards them, steadily and surely.</p>
<p>It didn’t take much for the fight to begin.</p>
<p>Having already walked three quarters of the distance between them, the man suddenly began running. He swiftly moved behind Napoleon, sending a punch on his back and rendering the American breathless as a sharp pain spread on his back. Illya sprang forward and punched them man’s shoulder, forcing him to turn and face him. Illya tried to punch again, but the man moved quicker. He hurled his fist and plunged it into Illya’s chest, before he punched him again with an open first, with the fingers digging horizontally into his chest.</p>
<p>Illya was fazed but not stopped – he quickly bounced back and finally punched the man; he aimed for the man’s chest, before something soft distracted him and made him pause. That momentary distraction gave the man enough time to regain his balance and attack Illya again, this time kneeling and punching his groin with a force infinitely stronger than necessary. Gaby screamed, in both anger and fear, as Illya groaned and fell on his knees.</p>
<p>The man sharply turned to look at her, as if only then remembering she was also there. However, he didn’t have time to approach her. That brief loss of focus was enough for Napoleon, who had only briefly begun breathing again, to attack the man. He moved in front of the man and held him by the neck while he began repeatedly punching him in the stomach, with all his might. Somewhere in the back of his brain, Napoleon noticed it was extremely easy for him to lift the man and move him, but he didn’t have enough time to process that thought. The man suddenly raised his arm, stopping Napoleon’s incoming punch by holding his fist in his hand and swinging his leg, hard enough to kick Napoleon’s shin with his foot. Napoleon relaxed his hold from around the man’s neck, who clumsily fell on his feet, taking a few uncertain steps before regaining enough balance to attack again.</p>
<p>However, that attack was stopped from an angry Illya, who forcefully punched the man on the back. The punch was enough to make the man stumble towards Napoleon’s direction. A kick on his thigh suddenly sent him on top of the American, falling over him while he was also getting ready to fight back. Those brief miscalculations of Illya were enough for the man to slide away from the center and make the Russian’s punch land on his partner’s face instead.</p>
<p>As Napoleon moved back and groaned, the man rolled on his back and landed behind Illya, kicking him strongly enough to make him lose his balance. While Illya fell on his knees, the man found enough time to jump on his shoulders and strongly place his arms on a chokehold around his neck. Somewhere in the back of his brain, Illya also noticed it was easy for him to carry the man on his shoulders. However, as the oxygen was forfeited from his lungs, he pushed that thought away and tried to push the man off him. Swiftly, the man hooked his legs around Illya’s arms, pushing them back as he continued strengthening the hold around his neck.</p>
<p>Suddenly, a loud crack broke the silence.</p>
<p>Something hit the man on the head. The heavy helmet that hid his face made a loud cracking noise, as it couldn’t last under the weight of the log that Gaby had suddenly begun violently swinging on his direction. A soft groan, mostly out of fear instead of pain, escaped the man as Gaby prepared the log for her next swings. Finally, the helmet cracked even more and then literally broke in half, revealing a mane of brown hair that fell on the man’s shoulders.</p>
<p>Then, Gaby stopped, with the log midair, <em>shocked</em>.</p>
<p>Instead of the anticipated, foolish man, who would have tried to rob the world’s greatest spies that she had anticipated, Gaby suddenly witnessed a <em>woman</em>! The woman looked at her with sheer terror as her cover had been blown and her face exposed. While Gaby took a moment too long to process the news, continuing the eye contact with the woman, Illya made a disgruntled sound of annoyance.</p>
<p>Without a warning, the woman released her hold from around his neck and fell off him, landing in front of him. Illya sharply inhaled, greedily welcoming the oxygen back in his lungs before the woman hurled her fist, sending it violently down on his chin, knocking him unconscious. As Illya made a thud, falling down, the woman turned around and looked at Gaby, who was only then coming out of her trance.</p>
<p>“I’m really sorry for this,” the woman apologetically warned Gaby as she quickly reached her and sent her fist on Gaby’s chin, rendering her unconscious as well.</p>
<p>“What the <em>hell</em>?”</p>
<p>Napoleon’s voice broke the silence yet again. The woman, gasping, turned to his direction. His eyes were widened and he seemed shocked. She looked at him.</p>
<p>“You’re a <em>woman</em>?” he asked, in clear disbelief.</p>
<p>“Is this <em>really</em> your only problem?” the woman asked, trying to normalize her breathing again.</p>
<p>As the seconds passed, Napoleon looked around, trying to both wrap his head around the identity of their attacker and assess the situation around them. Even though he was shocked, it appeared that the woman, whoever she was, was capable of many things. Seeing Illya lying on the ground instead of finishing her off was the biggest example of her capabilities. With a grunt of utter annoyance, Napoleon swiftly removed his jacket and ran towards the woman, attacking her again.</p>
<p>However, things were now different. With only one target to focus on, the woman moved around with ease, swiftly avoiding Napoleon’s angry and less precise punches. He managed to hit her on the shoulder, on the ribs and on the stomach. Even that, however, wasn’t enough to make the woman stop or slow down; she instead began slithering in front of him, moving with a cat-like precision that surprised even him.</p>
<p>“You’re very sloppy,” she suddenly mused as Napoleon grunted.</p>
<p>The woman raised her hand and attempted to punch Napoleon. Growing insanely irritated, however, Napoleon held her arm and suddenly, forcefully punched her in the face. Another loud crack was heard as the woman took a few steps back, trying to maintain her balance, groaning in pain.</p>
<p>“And you’re supposed to be a flower girl,” Napoleon suddenly complained, noticing the girl’s relatively attractive face, that he would otherwise find attractive enough to ogle over, that had suddenly gotten full of blood. His words rang exasperation as he punched the woman again, wherever he could find. However, the woman only raised a tired smile before she suddenly raised her free hand and punched Napoleon on the sides, making him release his fist from around her arm.</p>
<p>As Napoleon took a few steps back, the woman sprang forward and punched him again, spinning around and kicking him on the thigh. She exploited him falling, then, to punch him forcefully once more, this time directly on his carotid. Napoleon felt all the air escaping him yet again. However, this time, his powers failed him. He fell on his knees and then fell down completely, lying on his back, holding his neck and trying to regain his breathing…</p>
<p>Looking up, he saw her leaning over him, her hair falling on her face as she charmingly smiled at him from behind the blood. The sound of a knife removed from its case made him goggle his eyes as he tried to breathe. Instead of attacking him, however, the woman threw her hand out, sending the blade of a pocketknife on the ground, mere inches away from his face.</p>
<p>“How’s that for a flower girl, pretty boy?” she smirked.</p>
<p>The woman seemed to want to linger on the scene, but there was no more time left. Illya suddenly made a disgruntled noise as he slowly came out of unconsciousness. The woman took the hint – it was time to leave. She gave Napoleon one last chilling smile before she sprang up; she headed for Napoleon’s jacket, which she grabbed, and then began running towards her motorcycle.</p>
<p>When Illya and Gaby woke up completely and Napoleon managed to regain his ability to breathe, the sound of the motorcycle broke the silence of the emptiness around them as the woman drove off into the night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Repercussions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Napoleon held the handset with his right hand and his ribs with his left hand. The silence coming from the receiver was ironically deafening. Gaby’s concerned eyes stared at him while they waited, whilst Illya nervously paced up and down the room. Napoleon took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Waverly’s silence could only mean something bad.</p><p>“Are you still there?” Napoleon asked, trying to mask his nervousness.</p><p>“Yes,” Waverly sharply replied.</p><p>“And?” Napoleon asked again.</p><p>Waverly took a few more minutes to himself before he sighed. “I simply can’t understand,” he began saying, audibly shuffling in his chair. “Did you just tell me you were <em>robbed</em>?” he finally asked.</p><p>A sharp pain went through Napoleon as he remembered the events that had transpired mere hours ago. Obviously, the three agents had spent a good amount of time looking for that mysterious woman that had attacked them, but most importantly, they were looking for that precious thing she had taken along with her. Neither could be found.</p><p>Illya’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking, even after his hotel room was almost obliterated by his rage. Gaby had tried to remain calm and think clearly, but there was little to be done. The situation seemed dire and Napoleon was suddenly tasked with the chore of calling Waverly and explaining what had happened – even if words failed him.</p><p>“Yes,” he mustered to say. “There was a… minor complication,” he added, closing his eyes at the sight of a distraught Illya that stared at him.</p><p>“What sort of <em>minor</em> complication could have possibly existed?” Waverly yelled.</p><p>“It was…” Napoleon began saying.</p><p>“Were you alone?” Waverly interrupted him.</p><p>“No,” Napoleon replied, again avoiding Illya’s stare.</p><p>“You were <em>all</em> together?” Waverly asked with clear disbelief.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“How many people were there?”</p><p>“Oh, one… It was just one,” Napoleon sighed, rubbing the base of his nose. Understandably, Waverly paused and another brief silence occurred. Napoleon’s eyes met with Gaby’s; she seemed upset as well. Her face had turned into a question mark. She had obviously understood the question Waverly had asked and how absurd its answer seemed. She patiently waited for the ‘verdict’.</p><p>“One?” Waverly asked in a surprisingly calm manner.</p><p>“Yes,” Napoleon replied again.</p><p>“There was only <em>one</em> man that robbed you <em>all</em> three?”</p><p>“It… it wasn’t a man…”</p><p>Pause.</p><p>“It was a woman.”</p><p>Another pause.</p><p>“Hello?” Napoleon wondered as the silence grew worrisome.</p><p>“Oh, I’m here,” Waverly replied. “I’m simply trying to wrap my head around the fact that the world’s <em>greatest</em> spies were <em>robbed</em> by one <em>woman</em>!”</p><p>Neither Gaby nor Illya had to stand next to Napoleon to hear Waverly’s scream. Napoleon held the handset further from his ear as Waverly spiraled into a yelling match, shouting nonsensical words. All three agents looked at each other with worry, simply waiting for the storm to pass.</p><p>“Do I need to remind you, mister Solo, that this disc contains sensitive information to <em>three</em> nations, at <em>least</em>?” Waverly said, finally making some sense.</p><p>“I’m well aware of that; we all are,” Napoleon began saying.</p><p>“Then how could you have lost it? Why hadn’t you had it somewhere safer than on your person?”</p><p>“We were being followed!” Napoleon replied, raising his voice. “Striker’s men were on our tail, there weren’t enough safes in our hotel that could be safe enough for the disc. Having it on me at all times seemed the safest of options!”</p><p>“Well, how did that work out for you?” Waverly sarcastically drawled.</p><p>Napoleon paused, biting his tongue so as not to reply. “We’ve looked for her everywhere,” he finally replied. “We can’t find her,” he added. “Should we stay for a few more days? We can create a database and look for her and maybe we can find her…”</p><p>“Did you see her face?” Waverly suddenly asked, confused.</p><p>“Yes,” Napoleon replied, cautiously. “Gaby managed to remove her helmet,” he added.</p><p>There was another pause from Waverly’s side, one perhaps inexplicable.</p><p>“Hello?” Napoleon asked again, looking at Gaby with clear suspicion.</p><p>“I don’t think there’s any reason why you should stay,” Waverly suddenly said. “If the woman’s intention was to steal the disc in particular, its content will become available in the ‘market’ quite soon. If you believe you’re being followed, there’s no reason to remain in Birmingham any longer. Return to New York and we’ll deal with the repercussions once any arise.”</p><p>“Our flight is tomorrow morning.”</p><p>“I will see you when you return.”</p><p>Click.</p><p>Napoleon held the phone for a few seconds before he also hang up. He sighed and shook his head before finally looking at his partners.</p><p>“What’s the damage?” Gaby asked. She appeared to be the calmest.</p><p>“He thinks we should go back,” Napoleon replied, again intentionally avoiding Illya’s troubled eyes. “He believes the woman was after the disc and that’s why she followed and robbed us. Which means the content of the disc should be up for sale soon,” he added.</p><p>“Did he sound angry?” Gaby asked again. There was no point trying to lie to her, anyway. She had seen the suspicion in Napoleon’s eyes, a suspicion stemming from something odd in Waverly’s manner. She looked at him with a piercing glance and he sighed, running his hand through his hair.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he confessed. “He sounded… strange,” he added.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Illya suddenly asked, taking a seat on the bed next to Gaby.</p><p>“He… he asked if we had seen her face,” he said, thinking back to their conversation. “I had told him it was a woman by then, but he asked me if we saw her face. How else could we have known it was a woman if we hadn’t seen her face?” he wondered.</p><p>He realized he was reading too much into the details of the conversation, perhaps as a coping mechanism for the fact that things had gone so awry. Waverly had lost his temperament but he had found it fairly easily. Was it simply because he was accustomed to thinking fast and trying to find solutions amidst panic? Or was it because there was something else going on?</p><p>The only thing they knew for sure was that they had about thirty-two hours to think about <em>everything</em> before they had to meet with him up close, back in New York.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Did I do something wrong?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Have I said something that upset you?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Do you feel ill?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Then why <em>not</em>?”</p><p>Gaby’s voice was a little higher than intended, disturbing the calmness of the airplane’s cabin. Illya nervously looked around, to make sure no one had heard them. Napoleon, sitting on the isle across from them, pretended to be reading his book. Illya sighed.          </p><p>“I’m simply saying I need some time alone tonight,” he said. He spoke softly and in Russian. “I’m not saying I want us to break up,” he added. He raised his hand to stroke hers but she removed it quickly.</p><p>“That’s not what you’re saying,” she angrily replied in German before she crossed her arms and began looking out of the window.</p><p>Illya looked at Gaby angrily avoiding his stare and felt a pain piercing through his chest. He knew, deep down, he wasn’t being fair to her, especially since he wasn’t sharing with her all of his doubts, but they were in a public place, surrounded by strangers. Beginning the conversation in the first place had been a mistake.</p><p>Sure enough, they had been dating for almost two years and living together for one. Sure enough, their relationship was a secret, considering how their respective agencies would react to the news of them being together. Sure enough, there was no part of him that didn’t love her. And yet, sure enough, the incident in Birmingham had confused him. More than he was willing to admit.</p><p>The rest of the flight passed by in utter silence, with Gaby refusing to acknowledge him in any way. When the plane’s wheels touched the ground, she swiftly stood up and walked past him, disembarking the plane without even saying goodbye to either of them. Illya stood at the front of the airport, waiting for a taxi, before Napoleon casually approached him.</p><p>“You’re wrong,” he suddenly said while also waiting for a taxi.</p><p>“What?” Illya asked, raising an eyebrow. Napoleon looked at his friend, raising a questioning eyebrow. Illya shook his head.</p><p>“You’re thinking that your relationship with Gaby has turned you soft,” he casually explained, voicing the thoughts Illya had tried extremely hard <em>not</em> to think. “You’re thinking that being intimate and caring for another person has made you lose your focus and therefore turned you into a bad agent,” he nonchalantly added, looking away.</p><p>“How do you know what I’m thinking?” Illya asked in a voice that broke. There was clear panic in his voice and eyes as he looked at his friend. Napoleon sighed and turned so to be facing him.</p><p>“I know you well enough to see through you,” he said; he wasn’t lying. Working together, side by side for three years, had been enough for Napoleon to be able to understand both Illya and Gaby. He was certain the same thing worked for them as well, but that was a different discussion. “And I know you’re wrong!” he finally said, sternly looking at Illya.</p><p>“How else could she have bested <em>me</em>?” Illya wondered. He emphasized the word ‘me’, with his clear and ever-present pride. Napoleon chuckled.</p><p>“She bested <em>all</em> of us,” he said, shrugging. “It was inevitable, really. It was bound to happen at some point. You shouldn’t feel so bad about yourself – and you shouldn’t push Gaby away!” he advised.</p><p>“Inevitable?” Illya asked; he seemed offended. Napoleon chuckled again.</p><p>“I’m not saying it’s because we’re getting older – although we are. I’m saying that it is something that… happens… You can’t be the best forever. And yet, if we’re being honest, it wasn’t as if she was stronger than you…” he, again nonchalantly, said.</p><p>“She nearly choked me,” Illya angrily mumbled, pointing at his neck, hidden behind his turtleneck.</p><p>Napoleon thought about it for a moment, raising his eyebrows again. “Yes… she <em>nearly</em> did,” he said.</p><p>“What?” Illya asked.</p><p>“It’s nothing,” Napoleon rushed to say. “Still, she <em>wasn’t</em> stronger. She was smarter, perhaps… She took advantage of our weak spots, but there was no physical advantage. She seemed… fairly fragile,” he added, considering the ease with which he had lifted her. Illya looked at him.</p><p>“Don’t you think this means something?” he asked in a low voice.</p><p>“I think it means the agents are changing; they are evolving,” Napoleon noticed, with a macabre satisfaction. “Perhaps it’s time we evolve as well,” he added.</p><p>At that moment, several taxis re-appeared and parked in their spots. Napoleon softly patted Illya’s back and offered his friend a smile before heading for one of the cars. Illya followed his example, with his face troubled by the ideas offered by his friend. Gaby became, once again, his <em>only</em> thought.</p><p>Napoleon sat inside the taxi and waited as the driver patiently drove through the crowded streets. He leaned against his hand and for the first time in hours, began thinking about <em>her</em>.</p><p>It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about the events that had transpired; he hadn’t stopped thinking about them, especially since he was also concerned about the same things Illya was. He was good at hiding his fears and doubts, however. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t actually thought about the woman herself, about that sole person that somehow managed to spread disarray in their little group. Thinking about it, Napoleon grew more and more certain that she wasn’t physically stronger than they were.</p><p>She was strong all right, but lacked the physical buildup that he and Illya had.</p><p>Her moving and fighting was more similar to dancing, or perhaps understanding the space around her. She had managed to take advantage of their weaknesses, thinking before they did. Sure, Napoleon had been sloppy and arrogant, having judged her solely by her size and sure, Illya had seemed principally concerned with keeping Gaby out of sight. Yet, somehow, those things weren’t the oddest, at least not until <em>that</em> moment that Napoleon was clearly thinking everything through.</p><p>The oddest thing was perhaps her general demeanor. She had attacked them – but had only taken the disc. She had bested them – but hadn’t killed them... even though she <em>could</em> have.</p><p>The driver stopped and informed Napoleon they had arrived at their destination. It was then as good a time as any for him to stop thinking and get some rest. The next day was going to be a tough one…</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A New Friend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! Thank you for reading!<br/>Go to the end of the chapter for notes!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gaby’s small apartment felt strange. It had been unused for a few weeks while she was away, but even after almost a day of being back, it didn’t feel welcoming. It felt empty. She had woken up and drawn back all the curtains, allowing the shy sunrays to enter and light the rooms. The cloudy New York, however, worked along her moodiness and didn’t help her foul emotions at all. She quietly made a cup of tea, trying to distract herself from her thoughts.</p><p>The last few months hadn’t been easy on her – they hadn’t been easy on any of them, but especially <em>her</em>. Even though she chose not to speak about it, there was a certain air hindering in U.N.C.L.E., one that felt almost hostile. Gaby’s intuition had been numbed, by choice, after three years of working as a spy; however, there were moments of clarity, moments of pure recognition about the things that just didn’t work as well as they should.</p><p>She could feel Waverly’s intense looks; his behavior had changed, especially at the weeks leading up to their departure for Birmingham. There wasn’t any direct conversation or even an innuendo, but Gaby felt something had changed in him. She felt he wasn’t as satisfied with her or as pleased – she felt he wanted her to be better than what she was. Of course, that was easier said than done…</p><p>There were so many things Gaby wanted to do; it was true. She meant to be a great spy, of course, especially since her life was on the line on a daily basis. However, being on the other side of the iron curtain for the first time ever, meant that Gaby was finally given some sort of freedom, one she had never experienced before. And naturally, Illya had also come into her life.</p><p>Illya had been something extraordinary for Gaby – he was a breath of freshness in the dullness she had grown accustomed. Naturally, their relationship hadn’t started all that greatly; certain moments of great tension had been sufficient for Gaby to wish to change certain things about him. However, Gaby was in control of the relationship. It was a bizarre thought, but it was true. It was true in the sense that Gaby was more practical, more logical at times, easily defying Illya’s calculating moves that sometimes were simply absurd. It had taken him almost a year to admit, mostly to himself, that he had had feelings for her, feelings that would later evolve into something much more meaningful. Moreover, Gaby loved him – there wasn’t a single cell in her body that didn’t love him.</p><p>Still, some things bothered her.</p><p>After spending an entire day by herself, something quite uncommon, re-adjusting in her life in New York and resting from the horrible jetlag, she finally had some time to think. Surely, Illya’s strange and irritating behavior were the reasons behind her not-so-pretty thoughts, however it wasn’t as if those thoughts didn’t exist prior. Illya was a great man and offered Gaby his unconditional love and support in many things. Still, some times she felt he offered a little more than necessary.</p><p>Gaby was happy – but she would be lying if she said she didn’t feel a little restricted.</p><p>It was just a general idea, the general concept of everything, really, having started from the moment those three people met. Gaby had had the chance to establish a sense of style but even that was demolished after a while. Illya and Napoleon had had complete control over her clothes and outfit choices. She didn’t mind as much, as the clothes were always of great quality and high-fashion brands, but they both became quite eccentric when it came to picking out everything she would have to wear, including even her underwear!</p><p>Gaby felt, at times, as if many of her choices didn’t even appear to matter, especially when it came to missions. The latest, the freshest example of this was Illya’s refusal to leave her alone to work, back in Birmingham.</p><p>Striker was a man much larger than she was and obviously could have hurt her if he pleased. However, Gaby had been simply playing his game. She had worked hard to create this mysterious, <em>femme fatale</em> persona for her character, the kind of woman that was strong but wished to be dominated nonetheless. She had put a lot of effort into making sure everything was according to plan; according to the way Illya and Napoleon usually operated. And yet her distress, or to put it better her <em>pretentious</em> distress, had been enough to cause a massive avalanche of actions that jeopardized their mission <em>and</em> their lives. Thinking about it made her boil with anger, or maybe another emotion she couldn’t exactly place.</p><p>In the silence of her small apartment, Gaby drank her tea and then got back to her bedroom. She laid out her outfit for the day and then began getting ready, already dreading the thought of walking back in an office with a boss that sounded extremely displeased with her performance…</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>U.N.C.L.E. had expanded significantly in the last three years of its existence. It wasn’t simply a codename anymore – it had grown into an organization of its own. It was an agency mainly funded and supported by MI6, the CIA and the KGB, mostly because of the loaned agents it occupied; however, it had become something entirely different. Waverly liked to comment that U.N.C.L.E. was a ‘thing of its own now’, especially since they were principally involved in international matters and had been given each agency’s best spy to work with.</p><p>The headquarters were located in New York City, as a means of neutrality, a fortress of four levels, hidden in the center of a block of buildings with Brownstone apartments serving as the exterior façade. On the one end of the block was a public parking garage and on the other was a three-story Whitestone building.</p><p>In that building, on the first and second floors, existed a members-only ‘key club’ called the ‘Masque Club’, since the waiters working there only wore masks. On its third floor, existed U.N.C.L.E.’s newly formed propaganda front, a charity fundraising organization that served, primarily, as the public front of the agency that made sure the real organization remained a secret. Those two corners, as well as the small, dry-cleaning shop named ‘Del Floria’, were the entrances that could be used in order to gain access on the inside of U.N.C.L.E.</p><p>The ground floor, the first and the second floor of the agency were occupied by the main, general and operative parts of the agency; among the many offices and laboratories were included a library, an auditorium, three common areas, some classrooms, projection rooms, shooting ranges and a few gymnasiums. Apart from the field agents, such as Napoleon, Illya and Gaby, the enforcement and intelligence, the communication and security experts, new members joined every day and they had to pass through all the levels to gain access to the agency’s real objective.</p><p>Gaby was the first to arrive. She entered through the dry-cleaning shop, entered the single fitting booth and turned the coat hook on the back wall. Berenice, the middle-aged woman that ‘worked’ on the shop, pressed the button on the pressing machine and suddenly the wall of the fitting room moved down, revealing the armored door. Gaby walked through the door and through the windowless hallway, reaching Woodhouse, a sweet man in his late thirties. She smiled at him.</p><p>“Good morning, Agent Teller,” Woodhouse said in a gentle manner.</p><p>“Good morning, Woodhouse,” Gaby replied, again with a smile.</p><p>Woodhouse stood up from his chair and walked towards the remaining door. He pinned on a yellow badge, the highest clearance for a field agent like Gaby, placed his index finger on the lock and finally the door opened with a heavy hum. Woodhouse greeted Gaby again and she smiled once more, before entering the agency. Without wasting too much time, she passed by her office, unlocked it and saw that in the letter slot behind her door were a few letters; one of them was a note, ordering her to go to Waverly’s office as soon as she read that said note. She sighed and left, heading for the third and final floor, where Waverly’s office was located. His secretary, a sweet young woman named Elaine, greeted her.</p><p>“Good morning, Agent Teller,” Elaine said, offering Gaby a stack of papers. “Mister Waverly is expecting you in the conference room number three,” she added and then returned her attention to her typewriter.</p><p>“Thank you,” Gaby replied with a forced smile and turned around, heading for the conference room. She opened the door; the room was empty. She took a seat on the oval table and patiently waited for everyone else.</p><p>Illya arrived second, opening the door of the conference room a few minutes after Gaby. He didn’t bother knocking on the door but he did hesitate once he noticed her inside, nearly dropping his own stack of papers. She only briefly looked at him, following the sound of the door being opened. However, as she saw it was him, she purposely looked away and re-focused her attention on the map hanging on the wall opposite her.</p><p>“Good morning,” he offered in a sweet voice.</p><p>She didn’t reply.</p><p>He didn’t have time to react in any different way; Napoleon opened the door and entered in his usual manner, bringing an odd energy in the room along with him. He smiled at them, removing his trench coat, leaving his own stack of papers on the table and taking a seat.</p><p>“Good morning,” he said.</p><p>“Good morning,” Illya flatly replied, keeping his eyes on Gaby, while taking a seat.</p><p>“I see you slept well,” Napoleon mockingly offered.</p><p>“You’re oddly cheerful,” Gaby suddenly noticed, nonchalantly ignoring Illya while looking for Napoleon.</p><p>“I, as a matter of fact, <em>did</em> sleep well,” he sarcastically replied.</p><p>“So, I suppose you’re not worried we’re going to get fired?” she asked.</p><p>“I thought about it – and no,” he replied.</p><p>“You don’t?” Illya asked, turning to face the other man.</p><p>“I thought about it,” Napoleon repeated, running his hand through his hair. “I realized that without us there can’t be U.N.C.L.E., therefore… I don’t think we <em>can</em> get fired.”</p><p>“That’s such a smart thought, mister Solo,” Waverly said. He had appeared through the back door of the room, making little noise. He entered with his usual casualness and cynicism tattooed on his face, before taking his place at the top of the table and looking at his three agents with a tired smile. “Good morning; welcome back,” he simply offered.</p><p>“Good morning,” they all replied in soft voices.</p><p>“Now, I usually greet you with a congratulatory statement once you return to the headquarters. However, this time, I cannot do that,” Waverly said, resting his hands on the top of a chair.</p><p>“That wasn’t… entirely our fault,” Gaby began saying.</p><p>“The good news is,” Waverly interrupted her, “that thanks to you, the man with the codename Striker does not possess the disc that’s quite dangerous and hazardous to all of us. The bad news is you <em>lost</em> that hazardous disc,” he said.</p><p>The three agents sat uncomfortably; it was obviously hard for Waverly to hide his disappointment.</p><p>“We can track her down,” Illya suddenly said. Waverly’s attention moved to the man.</p><p>“We can?” he sarcastically replied, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“We can use her face and cross-reference it with people we know from our database. Then we can track her location and reclaim the disc,” Illya said, trying to sound confident. Waverly chuckled.</p><p>“I suppose that won’t be necessary,” he said and snapped his fingers.</p><p>On cue, the back door of the room was opened once again. Instead of anyone they knew, however, a woman entered. She was dressed in a black pantsuit, of all things, having matched it with flat, Oxford shoes. The morning light that faintly entered the room hid most of the woman’s face, but as she turned around to settle next to Waverly, the other agents took a good look at her.               </p><p>It was the woman from Birmingham.</p><p>“Agents, let me introduce you to Lydia Odette,” Waverly suddenly, <em>proudly</em>, announced.</p><p>The woman, whose name was Lydia, stood, also proudly, next to Waverly. She was almost as tall as he was, with long brown hair; it disobediently fell on her shoulders, creating messy curls. Her hair was tucked away on the right, behind her ear, giving way to the metallic, low-bridge glasses she wore that dominated her face. Behind the glasses were two big, brown eyes with long lashes, gleaming wickedly with excitement. She had a relatively small French nose, full, heart-shaped lips and a long neck, peeking elegantly out of her white shirt. She offered everyone a, seemingly sincere, smile and continued standing proudly next to Waverly. After a few more seconds of examining the woman and adjusting to her presence in the room, Illya stood up.</p><p>“What is going on?” he asked. His hand began tapping his thigh as his anger boiled at the sight of the woman. Waverly smiled.</p><p>“It’s all rather simple,” he began saying, anticipating a reaction. “As I said, this is Lydia Odette; she has been an MI5 agent for quite a while. After some deliberation I managed to convince her superiors and <em>her</em>, of course,” he <em>nervously</em> added, “to come join us here, in U.N.C.L.E. She is going to be your new partner,” he announced.</p><p>“You have got to be kidding me,” Gaby gasped.</p><p>“You can’t be serious,” Napoleon suddenly intervened, also standing. “This woman robbed us!” he pointed.</p><p>“Yes; she did,” Waverly replied, proudly patting Lydia’s back. She smiled. “If I’m being honest with you, I didn’t believe she would make it. It was an impossible task the one I assigned her and yet, she… <em>somehow</em> did it!” he added, still proudly.</p><p>“But <em>why</em>?” Gaby gasped again, joining everyone else and standing. “Why did she <em>have</em> to do it?” she asked, once it became clear Waverly was the one that had orchestrated the whole ordeal.</p><p>Waverly contemplated the answer for a moment; he, of course, knew <em>why</em> he had chosen to act in that way instead of simply introducing Lydia to his agents. However, that was a discussion for a different time. He then smiled and shrugged softly, again patting Lydia’s back.</p><p>“I suppose it was a test of character; perhaps, it was an initiation test,” he said.</p><p>“You <em>suppose</em>?” Napoleon sarcastically replied. “This woman robbed us and left us unconscious in the streets of one of the most dangerous cities in the world!” he added.</p><p>“Don’t be so dramatic, mister Solo,” Waverly scoffed. “You have all been trained to defend yourselves and bounce back on your feet, are you not?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.             </p><p>“You could have informed us about it!” Gaby suddenly said. Waverly looked at her.</p><p>“What good would that have done?” he wondered. “Knowing about an oncoming attack would drastically change the results of the said attack. And I wanted to see what would <em>actually</em> happen!” he added.</p><p>“This is totally unacceptable,” Napoleon insisted; Waverly sighed.</p><p>“Mister Solo, I’m sure we can stay here for a long while, while you list to me reasons why my actions were inexcusable. The thing, however, is that I don’t care. Miss Odette has been following instructions, much like you were, and the results have been <em>miraculous</em>. Whether or not you agree with my methods is a conversation entirely different. Therefore, I’d like to point out that you can’t occupy the moral ground <em>this</em> time!”</p><p>Waverly spoke with certainty and a type of sarcasm that seemed aimed at something in particular. Napoleon stopped talking and took an uncertain step back as Waverly’s eyes pierced through him. Soon enough, Illya stared at him in worry, understanding there was something there but not knowing what it was.</p><p>“I should let you all get acquainted,” Waverly suddenly announced. “Welcome to U.N.C.L.E., Lydia,” he said and then left the room, just as abruptly as he had entered.</p><p>A very heavy kind of silence fell in the room, as Gaby, Napoleon and Illya found themselves facing the woman they had vowed to hate, each on various degrees. The three agents continued staring at the woman, examining her, not reciprocating the casual looks she offered them.</p><p>“Hello,” she suddenly said, speaking for the first time. The agents looked at her with caution. “I just wanted to say that I’m very excited to <em>finally</em> meet you,” she said, offering them a soft smile.</p><p>“Well…” Gaby said, crossing her arms on her chest. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”</p><p>Lydia Odette took a moment to examine their faces back, for the first time really taking in their characteristics. She realized Gaby’s sour expression hid something else, even though Napoleon and Illya’s expressions of repulsion weren’t. She suddenly offered them all a smile, a strange and chilling smile, before she finally looked at Gaby again.</p><p>“Alles rechtzeitig, Frau Teller,” she suddenly said.</p><p>Gaby raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore a hollowness that began spreading on her chest.</p><p>“Natürlich,” she replied.</p><p>Before anyone had time to say anything else, Gaby quickly turned around and headed for the door. Napoleon turned and followed her in silence, leaving Illya alone with Lydia in the room. The two agents simply stood still, looking at each other, with Illya’s hate growing. Lydia didn’t move a single bit, simply looking at the man and continuing to offer him that strange smile. Finally, Illya moved. He realized there wasn’t anything he could do about that woman at <em>that</em> moment. Lydia stared into his eyes; she slowly nodded her head and smiled again, making Illya leave the room, fuming.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Napoleon was sitting in his office, thinking, while the clock in front of him continued to move. The hands of time travelled around the surface, marking the minutes... Technically, he still had a lot of paperwork to go through; fulfilling his legal requirements for the mission he had just participated in. However, his mind couldn’t focus on just one thing.</p><p>Each time he forced himself to concentrate on his task, his brain brought up another moment or another instance in which it became crystal clear that ‘Lydia’s’ arrival had been planned for <em>months</em>. Suddenly, everything made sense, including his odd observations about the woman’s motives and actions back in Birmingham and Waverly’s oddness during their phone call. Then, other thoughts came to him, as he suddenly realized ‘Lydia’ was sent there to be the fourth member of their group. This new arrival brought disturbance in that little group, enough to upset even Gaby. A new member, he thought, would disrupt the balance they had worked so hard to create between them.</p><p>Suddenly, he found himself thinking very critically of the woman.</p><p>He had convinced himself he had come to terms with not being the best agent anymore and having been beaten in his own game by a woman. However, now that he had had the ability to see her, examine her, he realized he had been lying to himself. Lydia Odette didn’t seem that much extraordinary then, in that office, with her suit and flat shoes. She didn’t even seem intimidating, not as much as she was back in Birmingham. Her physical appearance suddenly lacked that cat-like element he had convinced himself he had noticed in her and suddenly he felt betrayed and foolish to have been beaten so easily.</p><p>A sudden faint knock on the door woke him from his thoughts.</p><p>“Come in,” he beckoned, digging into his papers to appear as if working.</p><p>“Hello,” a familiarly unfamiliar voice said.</p><p>Napoleon sharply looked up. “Hello…” he cautiously said as Lydia smiled at him from behind the door.</p><p>“I’m sorry; am I bothering you?” she asked in a soft voice. She had an oddly pleasant voice.</p><p>“I’m working,” he lied.</p><p>“This will only take a minute,” she reassured him and entered the room.</p><p>“All right,” Napoleon replied and stood up. He walked around his desk and stood in front of it, looking at her and waiting. She offered him a sincere albeit still chilling smile.</p><p>“I believe this is yours; I figured you might want it back,” she said.</p><p>Lydia reached from behind her back and retrieved something; Napoleon stood in awe as he realized that that something was none other than the suit jacket she had taken from him in order to steal the disc. However, that wasn’t the part that awed him the most. Surprisingly enough, the jacket was folded neatly and a red silk ribbon was wrapped around it, with a bow on top. He looked at the jacket for a few seconds before he looked back at the woman. Her expression hadn’t changed; she continued to look at him with a face that underlined she wasn’t going to hurt him – even though she <em>could</em>, if she chose to. He looked at her still, not knowing what words would be appropriate enough for a gesture like that.</p><p>“It’s yours, isn’t it?” she asked, not understanding his silence.</p><p>“It is,” he flatly replied.</p><p>“Do you want it?” she asked again, impatient but in a strange manner.</p><p>Napoleon looked at her and reached out for the jacket. “I do,” he replied. He stared at her eyes for a few seconds before narrowing his. “Thank you, I suppose,” he added.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” she replied and turned around.</p><p>Normally, Napoleon would be interested in the woman by then. He would look past all the things he already knew about her and try to focus on her figure or her face, whether or not he found them attractive enough for his liking. However, no such thing happened. Because as Lydia turned around to leave, he noticed something. Her face, which had looked oddly symmetrical, wasn’t as perfect as he had initially thought. One particularly noticeable exception of this was her left eye – it appeared to be slightly narrower than the left was, and maybe even swollen? He was about to dismiss that finding, when at the move of her shoulder he realized the reason behind it.</p><p>A very big, mauve bruise nested under her left eye and all around it. It was thickly concealed with makeup in an attempt to minimize its presence; nonetheless, it was there. That was, as Napoleon noticed, perhaps the only thing that clearly showed what this woman had gone through, even though she didn’t appear as disheveled as someone that had suffered anything as serious as she had. That appeared the only flaw in her otherwise immaculate appearance.</p><p>Lydia offered Napoleon another one of her smiles and left the room. It was then that Napoleon realized that had the circumstances been any different, he would almost feel bad for what he had done to her, relatively, pretty face. It was also at that moment that he realized she had left a very strong scent of summer lingering in his office after she was gone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- The U.N.C.L.E. headquarters described in the chapter are as described and presented in the 1964 TV series.<br/>- Woodhouse and Berenice, the names of the two 'gate keepers' of the agency, are a play in words from the TV show 'Archer', which is in similar tones with the U.N.C.L.E. universe and espionage theme (also, let's be honest, Henry Cavill's portrayal of Napoleon is extremely reminiscent of Sterling Archer from the show - google it!)<br/>- The things Lydia and Gaby say in German are translated as such: "All in good time, miss Teller." "Of course."<br/>- If you've reached this far, thank you for reading!!!</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Mandatory Briefing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello guys!<br/>I've decided to post updates each Monday and Thursday.<br/>Thanks for reading, I hope you're enjoying the fic so far!<br/>See the end of the chapter for more notes!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What’s your name, again?” Waverly asked.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” the woman replied in a flat voice.</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you; I’m Alexander Waverly,” he said, perplexed and intrigued.</p><p>The woman briefly turned to look at him and bowed her head in recognition of his introduction attempt. She turned her head and continued looking straight ahead, not adding anything to contribute to the conversation.</p><p>Waverly had been very surprised to hear that MI5 insisted on him having an agent guarding him. His trip back to England wasn’t going to last long – he was only supposed to stay in London for a few days, while taking care of his business for U.N.C.L.E. The paperwork still needed to be done, somehow. However, his older superior had insisted on assigning him a guard, considering the detection of suspicious moves made by various enemies, including a man named Striker that had begun gaining control over some agencies with his moles.</p><p>Waverly had found it preposterous to have any sort of protection – he was more than capable of defending himself. He had also found it ridiculous when a few minutes upon arrival in London, a car with black windows waited for him and a <em>woman</em>, no less, was standing next to its open door. She asked him if he was Waverly and nodded when he replied yes, protectively pushing him inside the car.</p><p>Now, as they sat in silence in the backseats of the car, Waverly took a moment to examine the woman. She was tall and slim and seemed very collected and put together, however she didn’t seem like much. She seemed rather ordinary and plain even, with her slick banana bun and tight black clothes. Waverly discreetly looked at her from the corner of his eye; she was sitting perfectly still while obviously clutching a gun with her free hand, under her jacket. She kept looking straight ahead and through the windows, while the driver calmly made his way through the streets of London, heading for their destination.</p><p>They seemed to be heading towards an abandoned warehouse, when the driver slowed down…</p><p>And then they crashed.</p><p>A car abruptly bumped on theirs. The driver stopped driving and seemed fazed, but Lydia cursed through her teeth. Waverly looked at her, realizing all of a sudden that her arm had been protectively spread across his chest.</p><p>“I knew it,” she mumbled as the driver tried to reach for something in his inner pocket. Somehow, Lydia’s hand had moved quicker and had already planted two bullets in his skull.</p><p>Waverly, shocked, looked at her, as a few droplets of blood fell on <em>his</em> face. “<em>What</em> are you doing?” he gasped. She had already leaned forward and retrieved the driver’s gun, checking it, as well as the keys of the car.</p><p>“Lock the doors,” she ordered him, handing him the keys.</p><p>“Why don’t we drive away?” Waverly breathlessly gasped again. She looked at him.</p><p>“Car chases are unsafe,” she flatly stated before abruptly opening the door and leaving the car.</p><p>Waverly, still shocked, watched in horror as the other car tried to back away from theirs. Again, somehow, Lydia’s hands were quicker; she raised her gun, hiding behind their car, and fired three shots at the direction of the driver of the other car. Obviously, she hit her target; the car swerved uncontrollably and hit a wall while reversing. Lydia pushed the gun back in her jacket and then, for some reason casually, walked to the trunk of their car. Waverly saw her removing an assembled rifle from under a blanket.</p><p>“Do you dare to come out?” she suddenly yelled, placing the gun on her shoulder and cocking it after she walked around the car.</p><p>After a few seconds of silence, she fired a warning shot at the front wheel of the car. Waverly remained in shock, perhaps expecting her small body to bounce back from the effect – nothing happened.</p><p>Suddenly, the passenger’s door flung open and a very large, bald, man walked out, with his hands in the air. The distance between the cars, Waverly noticed, wasn’t too long. However, Lydia didn’t fire at him.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing?” the man asked in a trembling voice. Waverly noticed an Irish accent.</p><p>“Where are your partners?” Lydia calmly asked.</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man replied.</p><p>Lydia paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. Continuing to hold the gun in her arms, she walked towards the man. Waverly shuffled in his seat, trying to yell at her to stop. But Lydia didn’t look at his direction. She continued walking towards the man, until a few steps before him, where the man, naturally, attacked her. Waverly must’ve screamed in panic; however, then he stopped.</p><p>Even though the man was enormous, especially in comparison to her, she managed to hit him on the head with the back of the gun. The man began bleeding but tried to attack her again. However, this time, she moved quickly. She somehow managed to punch him enough to dizzy him, before she grabbed the back of his head and hit it repeatedly on the side of the car. The window broke under the hits and suddenly she rose her gun again, firing a few shots on the inside. Waverly hadn’t even seen her hand moving to reload the gun; she was moving <em>that</em> fast. Suddenly, she looked at the man she had hit, who made a thud as he fell on the ground. She examined him for a brief second, before she sent a shot towards his head, spilling blood everywhere.</p><p>An odd silence suddenly spread around them; it was then that Waverly realized they probably weren’t anywhere <em>near</em> the safe house he was supposed to be heading. He looked out the window and saw her lowering her gun; he paused. For some reason, she seemed to be taking a few deep breaths, and after a few seconds of apparent inner contemplation, she crossed her fingers across her face and chest, <em>praying</em>. She took a few seconds to compose herself and then turned around, heading for Waverly’s car. She knocked on the glass, signaling him to unlock the doors. He complied in silence and watched her removing a bag from the trunk, and heading for his door again.</p><p>“Let’s go,” she ordered.</p><p>“What happened?” he gasped, exiting the car. She was holding her sack-voyage and Waverly’s suitcase.</p><p>“Irish mobsters,” she flatly replied while heading for a crate on the side of the building. Waverly patiently waited in silence for more information but as she kicked the crate open and revealed a motorcycle, he realized he probably wasn’t going to receive any. She removed it from the ruined wood in a swift move and quickly placed the bags on the back before handing him a helmet. He looked at her. “I’m Lydia, by the way,” she suddenly added.</p><p>Waverly blinked, still perplexed. “You knew this was going to happen?” he managed to gasp.</p><p>She shrugged. “The driver looked oddly familiar,” she replied. “Can you get on?” she asked as she herself got on the motorcycle.</p><p>Without too much fanfare or too many questions, he complied, and held tightly on to her as she began speeding away from the scene.   </p><p> </p><p>Waverly clutched the blanket around his shoulders, desperately trying to subside his shaking. Lydia noticed both his trembling and his embarrassment about it. Without saying anything, she softly pushed towards him the glass of whiskey she had poured for him and waited until he found enough strength to reach for it.</p><p>“Thank you,” he mumbled.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” she replied, taking a seat opposite him.</p><p>“I… I still can’t believe what happened,” he mumbled.</p><p>“Aren’t you the head of a secret organization?” she mused.</p><p>Waverly looked at her; she hadn’t even broken a sweat. He reached out and grabbed the glass, emptying it in a large gulp. He then looked at her and sighed.</p><p>“I suppose that’s why they insisted on having you as my companion so… <em>ferociously</em>,” he said. He was hoping his amazement to be obvious.</p><p>Lydia raised a soft smile. “I suppose,” she mused again.</p><p>Waverly looked at Lydia once again, not being able to understand what had happened. Moreover, he was amazed and surprised by the woman herself. He had obviously misjudged her abilities and her intuition. Lydia offered him a soft smile and stood up, heading for the small desk behind them.</p><p>After the whole ordeal, Lydia had driven them through a different side of London, finally reaching a warehouse that seemed remote but also familiar. She had patiently waited for him to find enough strength to get off the bike and then she had supported him in entering the safe house and staying put. The inside of the warehouse was empty, expect for a few furniture that served the purposes of the meetings that occurred there. As Waverly observed the space around them, Lydia began typing something in a typewriter. She finished quickly and placed the paper in front of Waverly. He looked at it.</p><p>“It’s a standard report,” she causally explained. “For the mess…”</p><p>“How did you know?” he asked again, looking at her. She softly shrugged.</p><p>“As I said, the driver looked oddly familiar. I wasn’t sure from the beginning, but when he took the first exit, I <em>was</em>,” she replied, pushing back a few loose tufts of her hair.</p><p>“Had you had <em>time</em> to plan it?” he asked, feeling foolish.</p><p>“That safe house isn’t used, anymore. They were using it as a distraction. I had hidden my motorcycle there, just to be safe,” she offered and poured him another whiskey.</p><p>Waverly looked at her again, still amazed. “Thank you,” he said again.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” she smiled. She looked at her watch and clucked her tongue. “I should be going now,” she said. She stood up and headed for her bag.</p><p>“Aren’t you going to stay?” Waverly asked.</p><p>“I was only tasked with bringing you here,” she offered with a smile.</p><p>“Who’s going to get me back?” he asked again.</p><p>“You’ll be safe, now,” she mused.</p><p>Waverly paused.</p><p>“Take care of yourself, Commander Waverly,” she softly said. She headed for the entrance through which they had entered and left him alone in the room.</p><p>Waverly felt oddly alone as the silence that spread in the warehouse became haunting. However, a few minutes later, the other entrance flung open and a horde of people entered. He stood up, noticing his old superior heading for his direction.</p><p>“Commander Waverly,” Dwight Smith exclaimed, walking towards him.</p><p>“Commander Smith,” Waverly offered, shaking the man’s hand.</p><p>“What’s this?” Smith asked pointing at the paper Lydia had left on the desk. Waverly pushed it towards him and waited as the man read its content. He finished it and sighed. “So, I suppose Agent 96 <em>was</em> right,” he said, with another sigh.</p><p>“You were informed as well?” Waverly asked in disbelief.</p><p>Smith suddenly raised his hand and with his other hand made a gesture. Everyone that had accompanied him in the room scattered away from hearing distance.</p><p>“She volunteered for the job as your guardian; after some pressure, I should add,” Smith uncomfortably said in a low voice. “She mentioned her suspicions a few days ago, after meeting and examining the rest of the crew that was supposed to transfer you. I didn’t believe it was necessary, really, but she is the <em>most</em> qualified of our agents, so I allowed it to happen, nonetheless. I didn’t think anything would happen, really…”</p><p>“Well, something <em>did</em> happen,” Waverly replied, matching the man’s low voice.</p><p>“How did she do?” Smith suddenly asked, sitting down.</p><p>Waverly shrugged. “She did amazingly,” he said.</p><p>Smith smiled satisfied, leaning on the back of his chair. “Good,” he said, rubbing his hands with excitement. “Now, let’s get to business, shall we?”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Waverly had extended the duration of his trip indefinitely. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the events that had transpired with Lydia, going so far as to become obsessed with her in general. After the final details of his paperwork were settled, Smith had taken Waverly along with him and they had had a few minutes to spare. Waverly had anxiously asked about Lydia, expecting some answers, but Smith had been very cryptic. It wasn’t until a few days later that he managed to arrange a meeting with the woman again. Smith made it crystal clear it was because <em>she</em> chose to see him and not because he had anything to do with it.</p><p>Lydia approached Waverly’s table with caution. This time, she wasn’t dressed in all black and military boots. She wore a pair of beige pegged pants and a large white shirt under a trench coat. Even though she seemed simple and elegant, Waverly could clearly see her handgun under her coat. He smiled as she approached him and offered her a seat. She took it and smiled.</p><p>“I’m so glad you could make it,” Waverly nervously said.</p><p>“I don’t think I had much of a choice,” she replied in a slightly sarcastic manner.</p><p>“Perhaps,” Waverly mused. “I really wanted to see you again,” he said.</p><p>“Is this about our little ‘adventure’?” she asked.</p><p>“It’s mostly about <em>you</em>,” he replied, getting straight to the point. “I was interested in finding out a few things about you,” he said again, looking at her.</p><p>Lydia tilted her head to the side and offered him a confused smile. “Why would you want that?” she wondered. He shrugged.</p><p>“I’m not going to lie to you – as well as I’m not going to sugar-code it,” he said. He leaned on his elbows on top of the table. “I would really like to work with you,” he said.</p><p>“What?” she asked chuckling.</p><p>“I’m serious,” he corrected her, leaning in closer. “Commander Smith told me you’re more of a freelance agent. Is that right?” he asked.</p><p>Lydia paused.</p><p>“He also let it slip that not everyone is… <em>aware</em> of your existence – not even your gender,” he added.</p><p>“Where are you going with this?” she asked; she had stiffened in her position.</p><p>“I’m not trying to extort you,” he rushed to say. “As you said so yourself, I’m the commander of an agency. It’s relatively new, but it’s growing. I’m confident that with your abilities, you’ll be able to fit right in!” he added; his eyes sparkled with excitement.</p><p>Before Lydia had time to reply, Waverly reached for his briefcase; he swiftly removed a few paper files and placed them on the table. Lydia cautiously opened the first one and noticed the picture of a man, along with details about him. She looked back at him.</p><p>“This is my number one,” he said, pointing at the picture of Napoleon. “The next one is of my number two and the other of my number three,” he added, pointing at the files. “They are, quite literally, the best agents I, or any other agency, has to offer,” he said, smiling.</p><p>Lydia looked at him still, not knowing what to say.</p><p>“You would fit excellently in their group,” he added, again with a smile.</p><p>“Mister Waverly,” Lydia finally began saying, closing the files and pushing them towards him. “There’s a reason why I’m a freelancer instead of a regular agent,” she said, trying to sound as diplomatic as possible. “I don’t work well in teams – I’m not good at those things in general. I’m quite happy doing what I do and… well, staying in the shadows,” she offered in a gentle manner.</p><p>Waverly looked at the woman and sighed. “I was afraid you might say that,” he said.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she replied.</p><p>“Don’t be,” he replied as well, shaking his head. “However, I shall persist. You’re a true jewel to anyone that has you, Lydia,” he said. He noticed the confusion in her eyes, forming from her judgement being clouded, and reached for the inside of his pocket, retrieving an envelope. “This is my offer – or, to put it better, my offers,” he said, softly placing the envelope on top of the files.</p><p>“Mister Waverly,” she began saying again, but he stopped her.</p><p>“Just think about it,” he said. “I’m leaving in three days. If your answer is still no, I will understand,” he said and offered her a smile.</p><p>He stood up and picked his briefcase. He lingered, finishing his water, before he looked back at Lydia.</p><p>“Is our meeting over?” she pointlessly asked.</p><p>“Yes, I suppose it is,” he replied. He noticed the way in which she looked at the files in front of her and smiled again. “I know the shadows are very comforting and quiet,” he suddenly said, attracting her attention enough to make her look up. “But I also know they can be quite haunting,” he added, directly looking in her eyes. “Just think about it,” he repeated, offering her a smile as he reached out and softly squeezed her shoulder.</p><p>Waverly left the café without adding anything else, leaving Lydia alone to blankly stare at the papers in front of her, not knowing how to react to what had happened…</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- The events transpiring here, happen during the last days of May of 1966, aka four months before the first chapter.<br/>- Since I absolutely loathe the concept of time and I love going back and forth with everything, I should let you know this is the first of some chapters that are going to talk about events happening before the 'original timeline', in a non-linear order. I hope you like it! :)<br/>- If you've reached so far, thank you for reading!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. White Tulips</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello!<br/>I've decided to upload once every three days because I'm way too excited to wait. I also realized the story hasn't kicked in yet and it may be a little boring, so I hope you guys still like it, so far!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The massive bouquet of white tulips blocked the entrance of Gaby’s apartment. Illya stood behind the bouquet, nervously looking at Gaby and shyly smiling. She crossed her arms on her chest.</p><p>“Good morning,” he offered, examining her signs of anger.</p><p>“Good morning,” she flatly replied. “What is this?”</p><p>“These are white tulips,” he said, stating the obvious. “I know they aren’t your favorite, but the florist said white tulips are the symbol of forgiveness and apologizing,” he added, still nervously looking at Gaby. “So here I am,” he said, offering her the flowers, “apologizing for my behavior back in Birmingham.”</p><p>Gaby looked at Illya and sighed. The gesture was sweet and caring, much like everything he ever did for her was. Moreover, seeing him sparked something inside of her. They had been on this fight for almost two weeks and it had been awful. She had missed him. He had missed her. She took the flowers from his hand and swiftly held the lapel of his jacket, tugging him inside the house.</p><p> </p><p>Illya softly caressed Gaby’s naked body, enjoying the way her skin reacted to his touch. Covered only by the sheet, Gaby looked beautiful; the sunlight that entered plenty from the large window behind her gave her an angelic glow and her smile was intoxicating. She caught him looking at her and smiled, leaning her head over her hand.</p><p>There were plenty of things they wanted to say. They had said most of them, including his fear of turning soft because of his love for her. However, nothing else seemed appropriate anymore. They enjoyed the casual silence of their home, their Saturday morning that already made the rest of the day seem nice. They each lounged in each other’s embrace, taking occasional breaks to touch each other, almost desperately trying to make up for the lost two weeks they hadn’t been together.</p><p>It was moments like these that made them both understand <em>why</em> they had fallen in love with each other.</p><p>They <em>completed</em> each other, offering the other the thing they lacked but craved.</p><p>Illya and Gaby spent the entirety of the morning lounging in bed. Sometime after noon, they got up and nestled in the kitchen, where they began preparing their lunch.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“It was so nice of you to join us, Napoleon,” Gaby mused. She looked at her friend that had settled in a chair and smiled, knowing very well that he simply wouldn’t drop by unannounced for no reason.</p><p>“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Napoleon mused back, looking at Illya, who rolled his eyes.</p><p>“No, we were just about done for now,” Gaby replied, equally sarcastic. “So, to what do we owe the pleasure?” she asked before filling his cup with warm water and offering him a plate with different teas.          </p><p>“Did you know Waverly is thinking of having a party?” he said, picking out a flavor.</p><p>“What?” Illya wondered, leaving his cup down.</p><p>“Are you sure?” Gaby wondered as well. Napoleon shrugged.</p><p>“That’s what I heard,” he said, sipping his tea. “Apparently he wants to have some sort of ‘welcoming’ celebration for Miss Odette,” he added, his voice slightly bitter.</p><p>“How would that even work?” Gaby wondered as well, taking a seat next to them. “Who would he invite?”</p><p>“I’m assuming people involved in our work…” Napoleon replied. “Maybe he’ll call our handlers as well…”</p><p>Illya raised his eyebrows. “Why would they need to come over for <em>her</em>?”</p><p>“I don’t know, I’m simply guessing.”</p><p>“Why does she need a welcoming party anyway?” Illya wondered again, taking his cup and sipping his tea.</p><p>“Well, if I <em>were</em> to guess, I would imagine it’s because she doesn’t feel very welcome. I know you two have helped enough on that as it is,” Gaby suddenly observed.</p><p>Napoleon and Illya looked at each other before looking at Gaby.</p><p>“So I suppose now you <em>like</em> her?” Napoleon asked, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>Gaby shrugged. “I wouldn’t say she’s my best friend,” she said as she looked at Napoleon. “She is a rather interesting woman; she’s fun too. I honestly don’t know why you two don’t like her…”</p><p>“I don’t know why <em>you</em> like her,” Napoleon observed back. “She incapacitated you too, didn’t she?”</p><p>“Oh please, Napoleon,” she sighed. “She was following orders. Isn’t that what we’re <em>all</em> doing?”</p><p>“So you <em>do</em> like her?”</p><p>Gaby stalled, sighing. “Maybe I do,” she said, ignoring Illya’s soft gasp. “So what if I do? I just told you, she’s an interesting person. The real question is why you <em>don’t</em> like her?”</p><p>Once again, Illya and Napoleon looked at each other and paused. Gaby’s question was a good one, especially considering how both agents refused to think through everything they felt about that other woman.</p><p>Lydia Odette had indeed disturbed the peace of their little group – she had also disturbed U.N.C.L.E. in general. Her performance in Birmingham was simply an indicator of what she was capable of doing – seeing her work in New York was an experience of its own. Very quickly, Lydia proved herself as good an agent as <em>both</em> of them, combined. She had an amazing ability to handle guns, sometimes with a precision that felt insane. She was also very good with bugs, locks and, naturally, physical combat.</p><p>It had taken only a few days for the whole agency to understand this woman’s potential, especially since her devotion was so great.</p><p>Lydia would spend hours in the gymnasiums of the offices, training herself and other interns that usually looked exhausted from <em>trying</em> to keep up with her. After that, she would usually lounge in the library, a room previously entirely unoccupied. Napoleon had assumed that she was coming from a place where publications of ‘provocative’ books were prohibited, enough for her to have such an intense need to devour each book after another. This assumption was fueled, basically, from the fact she had joined as a loan from MI5, but her accent wasn’t British; it didn’t even have a hint of it.</p><p>However, even that, only fueled the mystery that she continued being.</p><p>Technically speaking, they knew <em>nothing</em> about this woman. They also realized she wasn’t someone that would talk, socialize, or even <em>interact</em> with other people. She would usually sit by herself and she seemed fine; she seemed content…</p><p>Up until that point, Napoleon and Illya had been the best. Without a doubt. They had spent nearly three years setting themselves as the unsurmountable standard of what a good agent should be – Gaby followed their footsteps, but not really. It was perhaps this that made them so… bitter towards Lydia. She seemed detached from everything, including the rest of the workers of U.N.C.L.E. that were, sometimes, blatantly mean and rude right to her face. Not only was Lydia excessively skilled at all the things she was <em>supposed</em> to be doing, she also had a careless reaction to the meanness around her, simply not caring about it.</p><p>By many definitions, she was the agent that <em>both</em> Illya and Napoleon wanted to be.</p><p>“We don’t know anything about her,” Napoleon replied, trying to break the silence that had grown long. “It’s not as if she’s a very social person,” he added, looking at Illya.</p><p>“Have you <em>asked</em> her anything?” Gaby asked again, quickly catching him in his lie.</p><p>Naturally, Napoleon rolled his eyes and returned his attention to his cup, carefully avoiding Gaby’s question. It wasn’t as if he didn’t mean to reply – he simply couldn’t.</p><p>Napoleon was perhaps the most conflicted about Lydia of all. Waverly had been the first one to intrigue his curiosity about her, when he pointed out that Napoleon was <em>prohibited</em> from making advances towards her. <em>‘Why would I want to do that?</em>’ he had wondered before his question became ‘<em>why not?</em>’ something which Waverly didn’t look upon with favor. ‘<em>She’s my newest trophy and I’d like not to anger her with your reckless flirting,</em>’ he had responded, leaving Napoleon just as puzzled as before. It was perhaps that, this utter inability to treat her as he would treat any other woman that <em>forced</em> him to look at her differently.</p><p>It was then, perhaps, when he began noticing her figure, a body that was shaped and toned, but with beautiful curves. It was then when he noticed how pretty her face was or how small things she did, like push her hair away from her face could be considered attractive. Napoleon knew this was all a reaction to not being able to have her. However, sometimes it felt as if the mystery that surrounded every intimate detail of her while she simultaneously showed signs of strength and intelligence was what made her so interesting. Napoleon wasn’t avoiding her because he was scared or intimidated by her; he didn’t even hate her all that much.</p><p>He avoided her simply because he didn’t know what would happen if he actually <em>got</em> to know her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- Since this chapter is so small, I've decided to upload another one.<br/>- I hope you like the character development so far.<br/>- If you've reached so far and keep reading, thank you so much!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Scary Incidents</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey!<br/>I decided to upload two chapters instead of one, because the previous one seemed a bit small.<br/>I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I do!<br/>Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Miss Teller, could I please talk to you for a moment?”</p><p>Waverly stood at the door, waiting for Gaby’s approval to enter. She raised a confused smile as she stood up and beckoned, pointing at the chairs in front of her desk. He entered and took a seat. She continued to smile, even though she wasn’t sure why.</p><p>“How may I help you?” she asked, also sitting back down.</p><p>“You see, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve decided to throw a party, here, this Saturday,” he said. He crossed his hands on his lap and then looked at her.</p><p>“So I heard,” she said, nervously running her hand through her hair.</p><p>“I suppose it’s a bit unorthodox,” he continued saying, not really talking to her anymore. “I also suppose calling it a party isn’t all that accurate. Nevertheless, let’s say there are a few people that are very eager to meet Miss Odette. She has been, you know, a bit of a secret ‘weapon’ for quite a while,” he continued.</p><p>“All right…” Gaby slowly replied. She wasn’t sure what to say.</p><p>“Anyway,” Waverly suddenly said, as if waking from his thoughts. “The point is I would like to ask you something, regarding Lydia,” he added and looked at Gaby. His eyes stared directly into hers; she shuddered.</p><p>“Is everything all right?” Gaby wondered.</p><p>“Everything’s quite all right,” he rushed to reassure her. “The matter I’m referring to is… Lydia’s sense of… fashion,” he suddenly said. Gaby raised her eyebrows. “I know this is strange…” he rushed to add, “but I believe you’ve noticed what she likes to wear, haven’t you?”</p><p>It took Gaby a few seconds to realize where Waverly was intending to go. She looked back at the man as she uncomfortably shuffled in her chair.</p><p>“You want me to take her out shopping and make sure she picks something appropriate for the evening,” she said, catching up with what her boss was thinking of asking of her and voicing it first.</p><p>“I know this isn’t something to occupy yourself with,” he began saying again, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t want to ask you, if I’m being honest… However, this night is <em>very</em> important. I’m given to understand that everyone, including yourself, will be dressed in a manner much more… suited for a joyous occasion. And don’t get me wrong, I <em>love</em> Lydia’s clothes. I love them so much I wear them myself,” he continued saying, initiating a monologue that could be considered funny.</p><p>“I don’t mean to interrupt, Mister Waverly, but don’t you think someone more qualified should be… assisting her with this?” Gaby suddenly intervened, stopping his mumbling.</p><p>“What do you mean?” he asked.</p><p>She shrugged. “I suppose there are others more suitable in picking out the best… Maybe Napoleon or… Illya?” she asked. Waverly sat quietly, continuing to stare into her eyes as he waited for her words to wash over her completely. His silence was telling; he raised his one eyebrow. Gaby sighed. “It was worth a shot,” she mumbled and shook her head. “I’ll make sure she picks something ‘appropriate’, first thing tomorrow morning,” she added.</p><p>“Thank you for understanding,” Waverly added and stood up.</p><p>Without adding anything else, he left Gaby’s office, leaving her alone to sigh and softly bang her head on her desk.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Lydia.”</p><p>Lydia looked up from her book and noticed a smiling man looking at her. She narrowed her eyes in wonder, before she closed the book on her finger and smiled back, albeit confused.</p><p>“Hello…” she began saying.</p><p>“Jackson,” the man said, finishing her words. “I’m Anthony Jackson,” he added.</p><p>“Oh, right,” she replied, vaguely remembering the man. She closed the book entirely and held it in her hands as she suddenly noticed Napoleon in the corner of the common area. “Hello Jackson?” she replied, focusing back on the man.</p><p>“Say, I was wondering,” Jackson began saying, running his hand through his hair in a sluggish manner. “I see you’re making tea,” he suddenly noticed.</p><p>Lydia turned around, without really needing to, to make sure her cup was there as the water in the kettle boiled. She turned again and looked at Jackson, still confused.</p><p>“I am,” she replied. “Would you like some?” she offered.</p><p>“No, thank you,” he replied and pushed both his hands in his pockets.</p><p>Lydia paused, looking at him.</p><p>“I was just wondering,” he began again, repeating himself, “do you like tea?” he asked.</p><p>Napoleon, finding something amusing, had turned around. Lydia noticed him nonchalantly leaning against a wall, holding his own cup, looking at her and Jackson. She noticed something in his face, a bizarre expression she couldn’t decipher, before she looked at Jackson again.</p><p>“It’s all right,” she replied.</p><p>“Well, you know if you ever want some really good tea, I know a place nearby…” he said.               </p><p>Lydia paused again.</p><p>“Perhaps you and I could grab a cup sometime,” he finished.</p><p>Lydia, baffled, paused for one more time. She turned to look at her cup again, as the kettle began making a soft noise and then looked at Jackson. “Thank you,” she said, “but I already have tea,” she said.              </p><p>“It doesn’t have to be tea; we can get a cup of coffee,” he rushed to add.</p><p>“Oh, I <em>don’t</em> like coffee,” she quickly replied.</p><p>Suddenly, Jackson stiffened. He looked at Lydia, deep into her eyes and nodded. “I see,” he said, with his face tainted by sorrow. “Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where I am,” he said. He offered her a smile that looked insincere, and turned around, leaving the common area.</p><p>Lydia looked at the man leaving, wondering what had happened. The kettle suddenly screamed and she turned to tend to it, before a soft noise from behind her confused her yet again. She poured the water into her cup before she turned around; Napoleon had turned around also, with his back facing her, and he was obviously snickering.</p><p>“Did something amuse you, Mister Solo?” she asked, looking at him.</p><p>Napoleon took a few seconds to compose himself before he turned and faced Lydia. He was trying, poorly, to hide a smile.</p><p>“I was just thinking about what just happened,” he noticed, chuckling.</p><p>Lydia raised her eyebrows. “What <em>did</em> just happen?” she asked.</p><p>“I’m just saying,” Napoleon replied, shaking his head. “That was brutal.”</p><p>Lydia looked at the man and thought about it for a moment. She seemed honestly baffled.</p><p>“But I didn’t touch him,” she suddenly pointed out.</p><p>Napoleon raised his eyebrows as well. “That was <em>part</em> of the problem,” he noticed, in a more serious voice. Lydia looked at him.</p><p>There was a moment of silence, as the two agents looked at each other, confused. Lydia’s face had morphed into a question mark as she looked at Napoleon, who suddenly realized she wasn’t faking her naivety. He left his cup on a table and took a few steps closer to her.</p><p>“You really don’t know what just happened?” he wondered.</p><p>“Not unless you mean that another agent asked me if I’d like some tea,” she replied.</p><p>“Wow,” he gasped.</p><p>“What?” she asked.</p><p>“Jackson was asking you out,” he said. “On a <em>date</em>,” he clarified, noticing her blank expression.</p><p>“What?” she wondered with a scoff. “He wasn’t…”</p><p>“Yes; he was,” he insisted.</p><p>“But…” she paused, looking down. “He didn’t <em>ask</em> me if I’d like to go on a date,” she wondered again.</p><p>“Men don’t do that,” Napoleon replied. He had taken a few extra steps closer to her, continuing to find her confusion <em>interesting</em>.</p><p>“Why not?” Lydia suddenly wondered again. Napoleon shrugged.</p><p>“It’s kinder to ask this way,” he replied, looking at her face that continued to look disheveled.</p><p>“But I didn’t understand what he was asking,” she insisted.</p><p>“Have you seriously never had a man ask you out like this before?” Napoleon suddenly wondered.</p><p>Lydia looked at him. “Not really,” she replied, still confused.</p><p>“Wow,” Napoleon gasped again. “So, you turned him down not because you didn’t like him, but because you didn’t know…?” he wondered again.</p><p>“I didn’t know I was turning him down,” she said.</p><p>“So you <em>do</em> like him?” he asked.</p><p>“Well… no,” she replied. It was Napoleon’s turn to look at her confusedly. “What?” she asked.</p><p>“You don’t like him?” he asked again.</p><p>“I don’t really know him,” she insisted.</p><p>“I mean <em>physically</em>; do you like him physically?” he asked, a tad impatiently from having to explain <em>all</em> those things to her.</p><p>Lydia paused; she looked at the entrance of the common area, obviously wondering and contemplating her answer. She shrugged. “I don’t think so,” she suddenly blurted out. Napoleon looked at her.</p><p>“I see,” he said and turned around, heading for the table with his cup.</p><p>“Why do you continue to look amused?” Lydia suddenly asked, noticing his faint smile. Napoleon stiffened for a brief second before he tried, again poorly, to compose himself and face her. He shrugged.</p><p>“I just don’t really like Jackson,” he offered, in an ostensibly nonchalant manner. Lydia narrowed her eyes, trying to examine and understand his expression.</p><p>“Why not?” she asked. Napoleon, again shrugged.</p><p>“He’s a bit of a jerk,” he offered again.</p><p>“Is that so?” Lydia wondered. It was a rhetorical question, of course; she didn’t know the man and she didn’t particularly care to find out any more details about him. She turned around again, focusing her attention on her cup and the water that had began cooling. She placed the tea in and waited while it got ready.</p><p>“So I suppose that means Jackson won’t be your date for the party…?” Napoleon suddenly asked. Without looking at him, Lydia raised her eyebrows; she summoned enough courage to turn around.</p><p>“Excuse me?” she wondered.</p><p>“Well…” he began again, “he has been, I guess bragging, about taking you as his date for the gathering,” Napoleon said, sipping his drink while maintaining eye-contact with her. “It has stirred quite a bit of a buzz,” he added, raising an eyebrow as he continued sipping his drink. Lydia stared at him, crossing her arms on her chest.</p><p>“What?” she asked in a flat voice.</p><p>“I suppose you weren’t aware of that,” he noticed.</p><p>“He has said that?” she asked again.</p><p>Napoleon shrugged.</p><p>“Is the fact that this is completely inaccurate part of what makes him a jerk?” she wondered.</p><p>“It contributes,” he replied, taking a step forward. “So it’s not true?” he asked again.</p><p>Lydia sighed. “Of course it isn’t!” she replied, taking her cup and shaking her head. “I wasn’t even aware of this man’s interest in me,” she mumbled, again shaking her head.</p><p>Napoleon looked at her, taking another sip.</p><p>“And why would it be ‘stirring’ a buzz?” she suddenly asked. Napoleon continued looking at her, before he chuckled.</p><p>“If I were to <em>guess,</em> I would imagine it’s because of <em>you</em>… I believe this is the longest conversation you’ve had with someone ever since you came here,” he said, pointing at the two of them.</p><p>Lydia opened her mouth to say something but stopped. She sighed. “I see,” she flatly replied, understanding this was more of a gossip, generated by everyone else’s natural desire to create rumors about things they didn’t know.</p><p>“But I suppose, since it’s not true…</p><p>“You don’t have to do this, Mister Solo,” she suddenly said, cutting him off.</p><p>“Do what?” he wondered.</p><p>“This,” she said, also pointing at the distance between them. “You don’t have to pretend to be interested in me or anything I have to say… But if you <em>must</em> know, to put your mind at ease, I’m not involved with anyone in this office, nor do I intend on becoming,” she said, looking in his eyes.</p><p>This sudden shift of tone, from playful to serious, made Napoleon stiffen again. He looked at Lydia’s face, a face he was slowly becoming familiar with, and noticed the signs of someone upset but all too calm about it in general. He looked into her eyes, wishing to say he actually found their conversation amusing, including her naivety; but he paused, stalling since her honesty had caught him off guard.</p><p>“I wasn’t trying to prove anything,” he blurted out, not knowing what to say. She smiled.</p><p>“All right,” she replied and taking her mug, began heading for the door. It wasn’t until a few seconds later that she paused, stood still, and turned to look at him again. “You never told me <em>why</em> you care…” she suddenly wondered.</p><p>“Excuse me?” he wondered back.</p><p>“Why did it interest you this much whether or not I find this man attractive?” she asked.</p><p>Napoleon paused, looking at her face that had changed again. This time, her expression resembled someone trying to understand a situation a bit too complicated. He shrugged, again, trying to appear calm and collected.</p><p>“As I said, I don’t particularly like Jackson,” he replied.</p><p>“But why did you care if <em>I</em> did?” she asked again, re-entering the room.</p><p>“I… I don’t know,” Napoleon confessed. His sudden honesty caught Lydia off guard. He sighed. “Again, if I were to guess, I would imagine it’s because of you… You’re brand new; people do not know you. You’re the new toy every child in the playground wants to play with before it gets… old…” he mumbled.</p><p>“What a lovely compliment,” she remarked, sarcastically.</p><p>“It may not sound like a compliment; but it is…”</p><p>Lydia looked at Napoleon for a few seconds before they both realized some time had passed and it was becoming strange. However, there wasn’t any tension between them – there was only pure curiosity. The two agents continued examining each other before Lydia closed her eyes and sighed.</p><p>“Goodbye, Mister Solo,” she offered with a soft smile.</p><p>“Goodbye, Miss Odette,” he offered back, also with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The task of finding Lydia in the vast offices of U.N.C.L.E. was never an easy one. Even though her dedication had been proven repeatedly, it had also been proven that Lydia never stayed in one place for too long. Gaby quickly walked down the stairs and headed for the gymnasium, the only place she hadn’t looked yet. Lydia was bound to be there. Much like predicted she was.</p><p>Gaby entered the waiting room of the gymnasium; a man was already sitting there, quite literally at the edge of his seat, looking through the one-sided mirror. With her eyes, Gaby followed his glance and realized why the man looked so interested in what was happening on the other side of the room. Lydia, having her hair in a ponytail and wearing a sleeveless bodysuit, was fighting with a man who couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five. The young man seemed to be putting a lot of effort into <em>trying</em> to keep up with Lydia, who was either standing in front of him or behind him.</p><p>From the small pauses in between their punches, Gaby realized Lydia was trying to train the man; from the look on the young agent’s face, she also realized the man was having a hard time keeping up with her. Behind them stood another four young men; they looked impatient but also concentrated, as if desperately trying to incorporate Lydia’s moves. Suddenly, with a final punch in the agent’s sides, Lydia stopped. She took a few steps back and panted, obviously exhausted.</p><p>“Now, let’s work in groups,” she said, obviously out of breath. “Let’s practice two targets at a time, again,” she added.</p><p>The other young men entered the padded side of the gymnasium, and another fight erupted, this time in two groups of three people. Gaby followed the agents with her eyes as they sloppily tried to defend themselves, mimicking Lydia’s more precise and aimed punches. After a few minutes of what could be regarded hilarious fighting, Lydia stopped again and sighed.</p><p>“Would you like me to show you the moves again?” she asked – she was talking to the other group of agents, the ones that were working by themselves.</p><p>“I think I need to see it one more time,” the shortest man said.</p><p>“All right,” Lydia sighed. She pointed at the shortest man and the one she was previously fighting with and they regrouped. The men stood on opposite sides of Lydia while all three got ready to fight.</p><p>Once again, the moment Lydia slithered to the side, the two men began attacking her. The taller man had more physical strength, but Lydia managed to miss his fists, each time. Watching her fight amazed Gaby, yet again, as she realized Lydia had obviously been practicing what she was doing for <em>many</em> years. She was a joy to look at as she carelessly and effortlessly moved away from the men, missing their hits with ease. But then, a series of things happened that made Gaby audibly gasp.</p><p>One of the young men that waited for their turn to fight suddenly sneezed. Still in fighting mode, Lydia momentarily looked away from her targets, trying to examine the source of the sound and acknowledge whether or not it was of importance. At that exact moment, however, the shorter man pulled a pocket-knife out of his pants and held it threateningly against Lydia, whose attention was elsewhere, thus allowing the taller man’s fist to plunge down on her face and make her trip, landing right on the blade. Lydia flinched from the double pain and took several uncertain steps while everyone in the room suddenly stood still.</p><p>“What the…” Lydia mumbled, noticing the blade sticking out of her sides. She made a pointless circle around herself, trying to realize what had happened.</p><p>“I’m so <em>sorry</em>!” the shorter man said; his face had turned pale from fear.</p><p>“Why… what?” Lydia mumbled again, still too high on adrenaline to react.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” the man said again. He moved forward and tried to touch the blade, but Lydia pushed him away forcefully, trying to contain her fist from hitting him.</p><p>“Class dismissed,” she yelled in a soft voice, walking away from the area and stumbling towards the door. Gaby rushed to open it for her and worryingly reached for Lydia who seemed to be confused.</p><p>“Are you okay?” she breathlessly asked.</p><p>“Miss Teller?” Lydia wondered. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“I was here to ask you something,” Gaby began saying.</p><p>“What is it?” Lydia asked. She appeared to be calm and collected, even though she should be panicking, much like Gaby was. However, Lydia reached for her bag, bending to pick it up; she winced as the pain went through her and stung her. Gaby’s hands hovered her skin as she shook her head.</p><p>“I don’t think it’s really important, right now,” she said, pointing at the knife.</p><p>“Oh, that,” Lydia noticed and nonchalantly shrugged. “It’s okay.”</p><p>The two women left the gymnasium and headed outside, towards the nearest bathroom. Gaby watched in horror as Lydia stood in front of the mirror and looked at the wound. It appeared as if the women were worried for completely different reasons, with Gaby not knowing what to do but thinking they should call a doctor, while Lydia began wondering about the knife’s cleanliness.</p><p>With calmness, Lydia reached for her bag and removed a small first-aid kit. She calmly prepared a needle and some thread, before she unzipped her bodysuit, stopping at the level of the knife. After a brief moment, she took a sharp breath and swiftly removed the blade, throwing it in the sink. Blood spilled everywhere, tainting the white porcelain in a macabre way.</p><p>Gaby continued to stare in shock at the other woman while she took a towel and pressed it against the wound, flinching. Again, Gaby felt helpless with Lydia’s insane calmness while she removed a metal bar and pressed it between her lips while preparing the needle and taking some bandages out of her first-aid kit.</p><p>“So, Miss Teller,” Lydia mumbled from behind the bar. “Would you like to ask me what it was you wanted to ask me to distract me from what I’m about to do?” she asked.</p><p>Gaby paused.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Illya ignored Elaine’s protests as he forcefully opened Waverly’s office door. The older man was sitting in his desk, going through some papers; he sharply sat back as the tall man burst through the room with an ominous look.</p><p>“Have you lost your mind, Mister Kuryachin?” he yelled, standing up.</p><p>“This is important,” Illya said, sending a threatening look towards Elaine, who cowered.</p><p>“Please leave, Elaine,” Waverly ordered. The woman complied, closing the door behind her. Waverly then threw a deadly look towards the spy. “You better have a good reason for this breach of <em>several</em> protocols,” he began saying in the most deadly voice.</p><p>“Who is she?” Illya suddenly asked.</p><p>Somewhere in the back of his mind, Illya expected a bit of a fight to spark from this question. However, Waverly’s eyes lit in recognition. For the first time in a while, Waverly remained silent.</p><p>“The name Odette it fake,” Illya continued, taking a step forward. “She doesn’t have a file in MI6, or MI5, or any other major agency in the <em>world</em>. Who is she?” he asked again.</p><p>Waverly took a moment to compose himself and then sighed. “Have you been looking for her information, Mister Kuryachin?” he asked. “Why?”</p><p>“You brought her here – to work with <em>us</em>. We should know who she is,” he said.</p><p>“And is that where you found out she isn’t listed as an active field agent?” Waverly asked.</p><p>“Yes,” Illya replied.</p><p>Waverly sighed again. “Tell me, Mister Kuryachin,” he began saying, walking away from his chair and around his desk, to reach Illya. “How long have you been searching?” he asked.</p><p>“I’ve been looking for her ever since she came here,” Illya replied.</p><p>“And tell me something else, agent,” Waverly began again, looking the other man in the eyes, “do you really think I wouldn’t conduct an <em>extensive</em> research before acquiring this person to work for me?” he asked.</p><p>Illya paused, looking at his boss. “No,” he began saying.</p><p>“Are you questioning my capabilities?” Waverly asked, interrupting him.</p><p>“No,” Illya flatly replied.</p><p>“Then why do you think you can do my job better than I can?”</p><p>Illya paused again, while Waverly’s eyes seemed angry. His index finger began tapping his thigh, while he tried to muster some self-control and be professional. Waverly’s angry eyes didn’t help.</p><p>“I wasn’t trying to do that,” he said, as calmly as possible.</p><p>“Then don’t you <em>dare</em> do that again,” Waverly replied in a voice that sounded threatening.</p><p>“Excuse me, sir?” Elaine’s voice suddenly rang through the telephone, breaking the momentary silence that occurred between the two men. Waverly, huffing, walked to the phone and pressed a button.</p><p>“Yes?” he angrily asked.</p><p>“I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” Elaine began saying. “But I was just informed by agent Teller that agent Odette has had an accident in the gymnasium. She says it’s urgent and needs medical assistance.”</p><p>Waverly’s eyes widened – they met with Illya’s, who matched his panic and urgency as Waverly rushed through the door.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“How did it happen?” Napoleon asked.</p><p>Gaby shrugged. “It was an accident,” she said, crossing her arms on her chest.</p><p>“Who stabbed her?” Illya asked.</p><p>“It was in the gym,” Gaby replied, shaking her head. “One trainee accidentally hit her and she fell on another trainee’s knife.”</p><p>“You’d expect a mighty agent like her to be able to avoid being stabbed,” Napoleon sarcastically remarked in a low voice.</p><p>Gaby sent him a deadly look. “As I said, it was an <em>accident</em>,” she threateningly said. Napoleon cowered in his seat.</p><p>“Was it a large knife?” Illya asked then, trying to distract Gaby from Napoleon.</p><p>“It wasn’t, not really,” she said. “But there was a lot of blood – it <em>seemed</em> serious,” she added.</p><p>Before Illya had time to ask any more questions, the doctor’s office door was opened; a shaken and disheveled Waverly walked out, surprised to see the three agents waiting there.</p><p>“Is she all right?” Gaby asked, before anyone had time to say anything.</p><p>“She’s fine,” Waverly said. “She knew what to do and that stopped the damage. However, it was a good thing a doctor tended to it so soon,” he added.</p><p>“Was it serious?” Illya asked.</p><p>Waverly looked at the man, obviously not having forgotten their abruptly ended conversation, and sighed. “It, thankfully, was not,” he said, looking at them all. “The blade didn’t hit any major arteries or organs, so she’s expected to make a full recovery.”</p><p>“That’s a relief,” Gaby sighed.</p><p>“Well, then,” Waverly said with a soft shake of his head. “Off you go; go back to your business,” he ordered, pointing at the hallway ahead of them.</p><p>“I’m going to stay here; I want to wait until she’s out,” Gaby said.</p><p>“Very well then,” Waverly replied. “Let me know as soon as she does,” he added, looking at Gaby.</p><p>She nodded yes before Waverly nodded as well and walked away, back to his office…</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- This is the first glimpse into Lydia's personality and her past - more information about it will come to the next chapter, so I hope you're as excited about that as I am!<br/>- The strange relationship developing between Napoleon and Lydia are explored here.<br/>- I know this is a fanfic and all, but I wanted to explore the story more than the traditional topics of fics in general. I hope you guys enjoy the story so far, liking the characters and where this is about to go.<br/>- If you've reached so far, thank you so much for reading!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Cry Baby</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey!<br/>I'm pretty sure nobody follows through the fic, but if you do, I hope you're enjoying this!<br/>- Flashback / Throwback chapter ahead!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>December 23<sup>rd</sup>, 1943.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Get up! Get up Lydia! That’s not how we do things!”</p><p>The sergeant’s voice was loud; it echoed in the hollowness of the tunnel. Lydia, in a desperate attempt to distract herself from the pain, made the comparison between the sergeant’s voice and a dog barking. It was a bad idea; her refusal to do as commanded made the sergeant shout again.</p><p>“Get up!” he ordered.</p><p>Lydia heard the man’s words as more tears filled her eyes. She meant to scream back that it wasn’t as if she didn’t <em>want</em> to do as he ordered her – she simply couldn’t. The blood, <em>her</em> blood, began pouring from the wound <em>he</em> had caused on her thigh; it filled her nose with its heavy, metallic scent that made her urge to vomit even stronger. She wanted to scream, from between her tears, as the pain began spreading up and down her thigh, but alas, there was no air left in her lungs.</p><p>“What’s the matter, soldier?” the sergeant screamed again, leaning over her. “Haven’t you ever seen blood before? Aren’t you a <em>girl</em>?”</p><p>The sergeant’s voice became an annoyance that Lydia wished to stop. She craved to have the ability to tell him to shut up and make him go away, but she couldn’t. The numbness turned into shock. Lydia began trembling as she realized the wound was far deeper than she thought and wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t have removed the knife.</p><p>“What do I do?” she finally managed to ask, mustering all her strength and stopping her tears for a brief moment, so as not to let her voice crack.</p><p>“You shouldn’t have removed the knife!” the sergeant yelled at her again, circling around her and examining her wound. “You should have waited until you were close enough to medical help,” he added.</p><p>“What do I do <em>now</em>?” she asked again, impatiently, raising her voice.</p><p>“Find something to put pressure on the wound and stop the bleeding,” he said.</p><p>There was little consolation in his voice as he spoke those words and Lydia again wished to have the ability to tell the man off. She furiously looked through her backpack, trying to find something good enough for the purpose he had mentioned. She felt helpless as she searched through her bag, realizing her tears were blinding her and she wasn’t actually looking for anything.</p><p>“Are you crying?” the sergeant asked in disbelief.</p><p>Again, Lydia wished she could yell at him. She wished she could say that obviously she was crying since there was a deep and painful wound spouting blood on her thigh. However, before she had time to rationalize her pain to the sergeant, a new sharp pain went through her leg. Lydia felt her eyes filling with more tears as the pain persisted; an inhumane howl escaped her lips. Looking down, she realized the reason behind the pain was none other than the sergeant’s boot – he was forcefully crushing it down on her thigh, pressing on the wound and her, as if punishing her.</p><p>“<em>Why</em>?” she cried aloud, trying to escape his hold.</p><p>“Nobody cries on my watch!” the sergeant barked.   </p><p>Several more howls escaped her as she tried to wiggle away from his hold. She finally managed to do so and she began looking through her bag yet again. She finally found her extra shirt and pressed it against the wound; the white fabric turned red immediately.</p><p>With some peace spreading in the tunnel, Lydia wiped away her tears and removed her belt. She pressed the shirt down on her skin again and wrapped her belt around her thigh, making a makeshift gauge. The pressure made her wince again, but she managed to keep her pain in control; she didn’t scream. She then took several deep breaths as she held herself from the wall next to her and tried to find a way to stand up. She managed to stand on her feet and then leaned on the wall, taking a breath, as the pain shifted and send several jolts down her leg.</p><p>A pair of hands appeared from behind her tears; they helped her up, better stabilizing her on the wall. Lydia looked up and noticed the sergeant’s shadow from behind her tears; with the remaining of her strength, she forcefully pushed him away. She reached for her backpack, buttoned her jacket and took another deep breath, finally heading for the exit of the tunnel.</p><p>The outside wasn’t much better. The air blew cold on Lydia’s skin and the whiteness of the forest ahead of her scared her. She wiped her tears away again, searching for her compass. Finding the direction she was supposed to take, she began walking...</p><p>Each step in the snow sent jolts of pains in her leg and whole body, but she refused to cry. She refused to make any sound as she quietly limped back to the base, listening to the sergeant’s steps following closely behind her…</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The prison-like room felt ominous in the darkness. Lydia closed her eyes, trying to push the shadows away, but the walls felt closing in on her regardless. She was alone, which was good, but she was hurt. She felt her cheeks burning from the tears that rolled down her neck and wetted her pillow.</p><p>‘<em>This is all a test,</em>’ she kept telling herself, hoping the words would finally sink in, but it wasn’t much comfort.</p><p>The day had been, supposedly, of educational value. Lydia was supposed to learn how to survive in the wilderness and an impromptu fight. Even though she had managed to defend the sergeant in combat, he had pulled out the knife and stabbed her. She felt this was against the rules, but then again, there were <em>no</em> rules. The process was supposed to toughen her up.</p><p>She had failed.</p><p>Lydia was <em>nine</em> years old.</p><p>As she lied in her bed, she kept repeating the scene she had lived, trying to figure out what she had done wrong and making mental notes to herself not to repeat her mistakes. It was true; she had seen a lot of blood before – but <em>never</em> hers. This was, by all means, the first time she ever bled. The sergeant’s words about her being a girl came back to her and only then began making sense…</p><p>Lydia cried – her pain wasn’t just physical now. The nurses had managed to stitch the wound – they had even allowed her to rest for the day and the next few coming. Lydia thought this was supposed to be a good thing, a joyous occasion, but it was hard to allow herself to revel in that feeling.</p><p>She had seen the remorse in the sergeant’s eyes. She had seen him realizing he was a bit too tough on her and maybe he should allow her to feel the pain. She knew, however, that in his mind, his actions had been justified. He was <em>supposed</em> to be this tough and expecting so many things. He shouldn’t treat her any differently because she was a girl. She wasn’t expected to expect anything different either. She was expected to power through things, look for the best solution to her problems and manage them on her own. Even if the sergeant wanted to help, she wasn’t allowed to <em>let</em> him help.</p><p>Even if she was a girl.</p><p><em>Especially</em> because she was a girl.</p><p>The walls of the room continued to seem ominous. Lydia sat alone and tried to enjoy the peace and quiet she so rarely was awarded. However, her mind kept going back and forth, over-thinking. Was it worth it? Were all of the things she went through worth it? Was that who her father wanted her to be? Was that the person she was supposed to be for the world?</p><p>Suddenly, Lydia realized that even though she couldn’t answer all her questions, she could do one thing. She could cry. She was alone and she would remain alone for the rest of the night. Even if her pain was both physical and mental, Lydia was suddenly given a rare opportunity to cry – cry it all out.</p><p>She was supposed to be a tough girl; so, she was <em>going</em> to be a tough girl.</p><p>But not that night.</p><p>Lydia looked at the dark ceiling and the shadows the branches from outside created there. She hugged her stomach and cried, allowing herself to sink in her pain and let it all out. That would be the last time she would cry, anyway. In the darkness, she vowed never to let herself cry again.</p><p>But she could cry <em>that</em> night…   </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- Flashback chapter about Lydia's past.<br/>- I'm fairly sure such a camp, as the one described in the chapter, hasn't existed. The reference and insipiration behind it, however, have come from the 2002 action/thriller film "Naked Weapon". Btw, it's an awesome movie, you should definitely check it out if you hadn't already.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Going Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm still uncertain if anyone really follows the fic, but if you do, thank you!<br/>Have an awesome day!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m surprised you don’t own a car,” Gaby mused.</p><p>“It was never really practical for <em>me</em>,” Lydia replied.</p><p>“And you don’t have any means of transportation left, huh?”</p><p>“Actually no – most of my belongings are still in London anyway…”</p><p>Gaby looked at Lydia and offered a sincere smile. “That sucks,” she said.</p><p>Lydia nodded.</p><p>The two women suddenly stopped talking, letting the radio play a cheery melody instead. Gaby nervously grasped the wheel as she continued driving, not really knowing what more to ask. Lydia sat in the passenger’s seat, occasionally holding her wound protectively. After a few more minutes of silence, they finally arrived at their destination. Gaby parked the car and smiled at Lydia once again.</p><p>“We’re here,” she announced, pointing at the shop.</p><p>It took Lydia a few seconds to register the information. As soon as it did, she held her wound again and nervously looked at Gaby.</p><p>“That’s… that’s a <em>dress</em> shop!” she breathlessly said.</p><p>“I know!” Gaby replied, again with a smile.</p><p>“Why… why would we need to go there?”</p><p>Gaby paused, looking at Lydia slowly panicking. “Well… Waverly thought it’d be a good idea to get you into something nicer for the party,” she said trying to sound diplomatic.</p><p>Lydia sharply turned to look at her. “What? Why?” she asked.</p><p>“You know… it’s customary for… women to… wear something more… girly,” she said, regretting the words leaving her mouth <em>immediately</em>.</p><p>Lydia paused, staring into Gaby.</p><p>“How would you feel if we just got in there, browsed for a few minutes and then left?” she proposed, running a hand through her hair. “That way, no one can tell me I didn’t try,” she added in a softer voice.</p><p>“Are you being forced to dress me up?” Lydia noticed with a gasp.</p><p>Gaby shrugged and opened her door, exiting the car.</p><p>The dress shop was a medium size boutique equipped with everything it would take for it to look chic and modern. Various mannequins posed in different positions, showing off the dresses, everywhere around them. Lydia looked at some of them with a sour expression; Gaby also looked around, until a tall girl approached her and smiled.</p><p>“Good morning,” she said, “how can I help you?”</p><p>Gaby paused, looking at Lydia. “We’re looking for a dress, but we’re just browsing. We’ll let you know if we need any assistance,” she said.</p><p>“All right,” the woman smiled and left.</p><p>Gaby and Lydia were again immersed in a silence that was neither comfortable nor awkward. Each picked out a few clothes and showed them to the other in an attempt to make it look like they were trying to accomplice the purpose of that ‘outing’. However, the differences became apparent quickly.</p><p>Soon enough, Gaby realized how mundane and borderline ugly Lydia’s taste in clothes was, since she looked at items either black or <em>excessively</em> sparkly. Lydia, on the other hand, could only comment positive words for each item Gaby showed her, not really understanding or noticing something wrong with each dress, until Gaby pointed it out. It took them an hour to pick out four dresses they both agreed on and another fifteen minutes to convince Lydia to try on any of them.</p><p>“I’ll go first, and you’ll see it’s not a big deal,” Gaby sighed, taking the dresses they had picked for her. She entered the dressing room and quickly changed, putting on the first piece, a plum cocktail dress. She walked out and made a small turn in front of Lydia. “What do you think of this one?”</p><p>“I think it looks really nice,” Lydia pointed out – she seemed lost.</p><p>“Don’t you think the color is unflattering?” Gaby replied, trying to point at the flaws of the dress, in a way Illya would.</p><p>Lydia took a few more seconds to notice the dress, making a small circle around Gaby; she sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t know how the color can be unflattering,” she admitted. “If anything, I think this dress makes you look really attractive!” she added.</p><p>Gaby paused. “R…really?” she wondered.</p><p>Lydia nodded. “It shows off your legs – you have nice legs,” she said.</p><p>Gaby paused again, looking down. “Huh,” she said.</p><p>“What?” Lydia wondered, clutching her hand on her heart. “Did I do something wrong?”</p><p>“No… no, actually you didn’t,” Gaby replied; she chuckled. “This is the first time anyone’s complimented <em>my</em> sense of fashion,” she added, chuckling again.</p><p>“So, are you going to take this dress?” Lydia wondered.</p><p>Gaby turned to look herself in the mirror – the longer she looked at the dress the better it seemed, even though she still wasn’t too warm on the color. “You know what,” she said, sharply turning to look at Lydia. “I think I will,” she added with a smile.</p><p>“Yay,” Lydia said, also raising a smile, and clapping. “I <em>helped</em>!”</p><p>Gaby chuckled. She walked back in the dressing room and changed into her regular clothes, before exiting and pointing at the remaining dresses.</p><p>“Do I really have to?” Lydia wondered again, in a somewhat whiny voice, protectively holding her wound.</p><p>“You promised,” Gaby nonchalantly shrugged.</p><p>“Fine,” Lydia sighed.</p><p>It took her a little longer to deal with her clothes in comparison to Gaby. However, Lydia managed to put everything in place, in spite of her pain. She put on the least flashy dress, a black, knee-length cocktail dress with long sleeves and an elaborate neckline. Lydia took a deep breath and walked out of the dressing room, awkwardly standing in front of the mirror.</p><p>“Wow,” Gaby suddenly gasped.</p><p>“You don’t like it, do you?”</p><p>Gaby remained silent, trying to wrap her head around the sight she was looking at. Up until that point, they had only had an allusion as to what Lydia’s body looked like. Even in the tight, workout clothes she wore, it was never too obvious; until <em>that</em> moment. Lydia had long legs and beautiful curves, in an elegant, Mediterranean way. The only flaw in her otherwise incredible figure was her awkward pose.</p><p>“Lydia, it’s… it’s beautiful!”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yes!”</p><p>Lydia looked down but hesitated to linger on the mirror. She took a deep breath and looked at Gaby instead.</p><p>“Is everything all right?” Gaby wondered, taking a step closer to her.</p><p>“Yes, everything’s fine,” Lydia replied, obviously lying.</p><p>“It really is a beautiful dress; it fits you so well!” Gaby added, trying to sound encouraging.</p><p>“All right; if you think it’s nice, I’ll take it!” Lydia replied, still avoiding her reflection in the mirror.</p><p>The two women took both dresses and headed for the counter, paying in silence. Then, they entered Gaby’s car and began driving away.</p><p>“You know, it’s still relatively early,” Gaby suddenly said, pointing at her watch.</p><p>“It’s noon,” Lydia replied. Some of the awkwardness had begun lifting away.</p><p>“We could go get lunch,” Gaby suggested. “Are you hungry?”</p><p>“I could eat,” Lydia replied with a soft smile.</p><p>Gaby continued driving in the busy streets of New York. She finally found the small Italian restaurant she liked and parked the car. Both walked out and headed for the inside; after they settled on a table and a waiter brought them their menus, Gaby looked at Lydia.</p><p>“Is something on your mind, Miss Teller?” Lydia asked, without looking up.</p><p>“You know, you can call me Gaby,” she replied, with a smile.</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“It’ll continue sounding odd if you don’t,” Gaby insisted.</p><p>“All right… Gaby,” Lydia replied. She seemed nervous with something so forward.</p><p>“Can I call you Lydia?” Gaby suddenly asked.</p><p>“I thought you already were?”</p><p>“Not really… Please, don’t take this the wrong way but I…”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“I… I think I’m a little scared of you…”</p><p>Lydia arched her eyebrows. “Really?”</p><p>“It’s not easy getting to know you,” Gaby said, trying to rationalize her thoughts.</p><p>“But I hurt you the least,” Lydia replied, seemingly having travelled somewhere else.</p><p>“It’s not about that – it’s not about Birmingham.”</p><p>“What is it about?”</p><p>“I…” Gaby paused again, shaking her head. “I think it’s <em>everything</em> – I think it’s because I know nothing about you. I mean, I was a little scared of Illya when I first met him too, but now…,” she said. She quickly stopped, trying to look away.</p><p>Lydia noticed it, but didn’t comment on it. “Yes, I suppose that could be reason enough,” she mused.</p><p>“Can I ask you a few questions?” Gaby finally mustered enough courage to ask.</p><p>Lydia smiled. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to answer them honestly,” she said.</p><p>Her sudden honesty caught Gaby off guard. “You don’t?”</p><p>“Well…” Lydia began saying, closing her menu and putting it aside. “There are some things I’d like to keep to myself,” she said, placing her hands on her lap. She seemed sincere, even though it seemed as if she was trying to pass off her honesty with a sweeter version of herself. Gaby nodded.</p><p>“I wouldn’t want you to share <em>everything</em>,” she said. “Some things <em>should</em> be secrets,” she said, for her own reasons. Lydia smiled.</p><p>“So I can decline answering something?”</p><p>“Of course!”</p><p>“Huh,” Lydia said and nodded. “Then I suppose, fire away,” she joked.</p><p>Gaby nodded and looked at the other woman, trying to pick one of the many questions she meant to ask. She sighed. “I have one that’s simply out of curiosity,” she said.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“Why did you seem so nervous to look yourself in the mirror?” she asked.</p><p>Lydia paused. She contemplated her answer and then nodded. “I don’t really like seeing myself in mirrors,” she said, again with a disarming honesty. “I find myself resembling my mother, quite regularly. I think it’s the hair,” she said and chuckled. “I have an irrational fear of finding myself repeating her gestures… I wouldn’t be able to handle it very well if I were certain of it,” she replied.</p><p>“Why would it matter if you grew up like her?” Gaby wondered. “Is she… passed?”</p><p>“No,” Lydia replied in a soft voice.</p><p>“So, I suppose you simply don’t get along?”</p><p>“We aren’t speaking.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>Lydia shrugged, in a seemingly effortless way. Gaby nodded.</p><p>“All right,” she replied and tried to think about something else. She desperately tried to prioritize her questions, even though it seemed pointless in some peculiar way. No question was more or less important than the other, not to mention that her curiosity had peaked with that flat statement about Lydia’s family situation. The waiter briefly interrupted them, taking their order – he left smiling. Finding enough courage to ignore her curiosity and focus on gaining Lydia’s trust, she took a deep breath. “I have another one,” she suddenly said. “This one <em>is</em> about Birmingham.”</p><p>“I was beginning to worry,” Lydia joked.</p><p>Gaby chuckled. “How… how can someone be as <em>good</em> as you?” she finally asked. There was no point hiding the admiration in her voice.</p><p>Lydia chuckled, surprised. “Excuse me?” she asked.</p><p>“Oh come on,” Gaby replied, shaking her head. “I’ve seen these two work… One time, Illya threw a <em>whole</em> motorcycle on top of a man!” she added, again with a voice full of awe. “He just picked it up and threw it, like it weighted nothing! And yet, here you are, knocking him unconscious! <em>How</em> does that happen?”</p><p>Lydia paused. It was obvious there was another emotion along with admiration in Gaby’s voice, but she refused to acknowledge it. Instead, she raised a soft smile. “I did what I always do,” she offered.</p><p>“What’s that?” Gaby quickly asked.</p><p>“I don’t do what <em>you</em> do, Gaby,” Lydia said; her voice had changed a little, turning more serious. “I don’t present myself to my targets, trying to work my way through my mission with diplomacy,” she said, scoffing in a non-sarcastic way. “I’m a hunter,” she said. “I <em>stalk</em> my targets and I attack when I know I can. This is far simpler than maneuvering myself through people I’m not supposed to hurt until they’ve told me everything I need to know,” she added.</p><p>“Well… that’s interesting,” Gaby said, trying to process her words. “Have you been following us?” she asked. She softly gasped when Lydia nodded yes.</p><p>“I didn’t know that much about you,” Lydia began saying, “I only knew details about your lives, things that… Alexander had provided me, as well as some notes about you. In them, it was written with <em>big</em> letters, that… Illya is a <em>very</em> observant man,” she said, purposely avoiding using last names.</p><p>“How did that help you?”</p><p>“Well, I wasn’t supposed to make myself seen until I knew for a fact you’ve had the disc. However, I needed to make sure you were… on your toes. I <em>needed</em> to make sure you were aware of a threat. Therefore, I had appeared in his great peripheral vision <em>four</em> times before I attacked you.”</p><p>“What?” Gaby gasped.</p><p>Lydia chuckled. “I knew he would notice me – I made sure of it. However, I didn’t look directly at him, just his general direction. That made him nervous, curious as to whether I was following you or simply had the same routes as you…”</p><p>“What good would that do for you? Keeping us on our toes?” Gaby wondered.</p><p>Lydia shrugged and leaned forward. “There’s a very common mistake agents make, Gaby, one that can sometimes be quite lethal,” she said. “Because they don’t know who their actual threat is, they always have it in the back of their heads that they <em>may</em> be attacked. That makes them… ignore certain parts of normal people’s behavior. I could very well be nothing – and yet, he was anxious whether I wasn’t regardless. I’m guessing his anxiousness was apparent in other parts of your mission, was it not?”</p><p>Lydia’s question, although simple, felt very important. It felt as if someone had lit a torch on top of their mission and some things became insanely clear. Gaby raised her hand and touched her neck, not knowing what to say. Lydia smiled.</p><p>“I take it by your silence that I’m right,” she smiled.</p><p>“Oh, you <em>are</em>,” Gaby breathlessly replied.</p><p>“I would like to apologize if the incident with ‘Striker’ was my fault,” Lydia suddenly said in an honest voice. Gaby paused again, before she sighed.</p><p>“I honestly don’t know anymore,” she replied. “That doesn’t explain how you bested them, though,” she added. Lydia, again, chuckled.</p><p>“It was a mixture of everything, really,” she said. “The most important part was getting you in a secluded area,” she added.</p><p>“How <em>did</em> you do that?” Gaby gasped. She had spent many hours trying to figure that one question out. Lydia, again, chuckled.</p><p>“As I said, it was your fault, basically,” she replied, nervously adding something not to sound insulting. “Alexander had mentioned you like to rest in open areas after a mission. I’ve been living in England for <em>fifteen</em> years – I obviously knew Birmingham better than you did… So, I exploited that ignorance to my benefit, by tricking you into following me where I <em>knew</em> I could make my move…”</p><p>“That doesn’t explain how you made us do it,” Gaby wondered.</p><p>“As I said, it’s the agents’ mentality,” Lydia offered. Suddenly, the waiter interrupted them, placing their respective plates in front of them. Lydia picked her fork and took a bite; the food was delicious.</p><p>“So you’re saying that it’s because we followed you that all of this happened?” Gaby asked, also taking a bite.</p><p>“Basically, yes; you see, you could have ignored me. I was simply looking at you; I could be very well checking one of you out. But you didn’t. Even though you should. That’s how agents work... Seeing someone look at you offers you a challenge. You could be heading back to your original destination; but you didn’t. Even though you should, because I could be, and eventually I <em>was</em>, a trap!”</p><p>Gaby paused once more, looking at Lydia taking a few additional bites. The explanation of her plan seemed fair enough, however, the logic behind it had been far too complicated. It, inevitably, reminded Gaby of her first mission, back in Rome. Illya and Napoleon had used exactly this much thought about everything they had thought of doing.  </p><p>Lydia’s nonchalance, however, made the case slightly more interesting. It made it fascinating. Gaby looked at her new friend and remembered how another question she had asked hadn’t been answered. She placed her fork down and looked at her.</p><p>“You hadn’t told me one thing,” she said, making Lydia focus on her instead of her food.</p><p>“What’s that?” she asked.</p><p>“How <em>did</em> you do it?” Gaby asked, yet again. “I know you said you used trickery – I understand that. However, I can’t understand the physics behind it… How can someone like you be stronger than two men like them are? I haven’t been able to <em>trip</em> either of them, even if I attack them unexpectedly!”</p><p>Lydia took a moment to examine Gaby. A serious thought crossed her mind as Gaby’s fascination became too insistent and concerning. She casually put her fork down as well and crossed her hands on the table, staring into Gaby’s eyes.</p><p>“Physical contact isn’t a hard thing, Gaby,” she said in a serious voice. “It may seem so, because of all the movement – but you can coach yourself to deal with it. I’ve been ‘coaching’ myself for many years. I wouldn’t really be able to do it, honestly, that’s true. However, I’ve grown accustomed to men like them. It’s not about being stronger than them – it’s about being <em>smarter</em> than them!”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Gaby asked, her eyes involuntarily widening.</p><p>Lydia shrugged. “I realized Napoleon judged only by my size, especially after he first lifted me and realized I wasn’t very heavy. That made him arrogant and therefore sloppy. I also realized Illya was… principally concerned in keeping me away from <em>you</em>,” she said; her glance fell in Gaby’s eyes again, making her shudder. “I knew that at the sight of your distress, he would do whatever. Had you two been alone, I might’ve failed.</p><p>»I wasn’t sure you would be so eager to help him back. I was surprised you even… did anything,” she added. “I don’t mean to sound offensive,” she rushed to say, shaking her head. “I just realized that they didn’t <em>let</em> you do much. Your participation was actually an interesting surprise!”</p><p>“What is that supposed to mean?” Gaby asked, sitting up. Her cheeks turned red.</p><p>“It means you fight like a <em>woman</em>,” Lydia proudly said; Gaby raised her eyebrow. “You fight efficiently and practically, without clouding your judgement with appearances. That’s excellent,” she said.</p><p>Gaby, dumfounded, paused. “Thank you?” she asked.</p><p> Lydia bowed her head in recognition and picked her fork one more time. “You’re most welcome,” she said, taking a bite.</p><p>Gaby looked at Lydia, who looked at her back, and offered her a sincere smile. She would be lying if she said she didn’t feel slightly flattered by Lydia’s words. They continued with their meal, shifting in other topics, including the party that was approaching, Jackson’s failed attempt in asking Lydia out and Napoleon’s curiosity, something Gaby saw cautiously but chose not to comment on. They then continued talking about New York, whether Lydia liked living there in comparison with London or not. In the end, they paid for their meal and left the restaurant, laughing like merry good friends…</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want to show me?”</p><p>“Just hold on,” Lydia said.</p><p>They had returned to Lydia’s apartment, a space new for Gaby, who was pleasantly surprised. The apartment was relatively small but quite spacious; it had one long hallway and all the rooms were on the left, including a large living room with big bookcases, a kitchen, a bathroom and two bedrooms, all with big windows that had the curtains drawn back.</p><p>Lydia had rushed in the one bedroom, probably the one she used for herself, and had begun going through her closet, trying to find something. She finally found what she was looking for and presented it to Gaby with a smile.</p><p>“Oh, it’s pretty,” Gaby replied, examining the fabric and its great quality.</p><p>“I want you to take it; I would love to see you wearing it!” Lydia suddenly offered.</p><p>“What?” Gaby chuckled.</p><p>“It’ll probably be a little long, and maybe a little large, but if you wear high heels and a belt it won’t seem so odd.”</p><p>Gaby raised her eyebrows. “Why would I do that?”</p><p>Lydia shrugged and offered the other woman a wicked smile. “Why did I need a dress?” she asked.</p><p>Gaby opened her mouth to offer a counter-point, but failed.</p><p>“That’s what I thought,” Lydia replied, again with a smile.</p><p>“You know what; I will give it a try!”</p><p>Lydia smiled and began clapping in a silly manner. “Yay! I <em>helped</em>!”  </p><p>Gaby chuckled.</p><p>                       </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- A few more details about Lydia's personality and past, although she's still 'clouded in mystery'.<br/>- Some important developments in Lydia and Gaby's relationship; I was honestly very excited to explore that friendship.<br/>- Some extra details about the first chapter; my opinion about this?<br/>. I think the concept of female characters physically stronger and more capable than their male counterparts is a fantastic and exciting concept, regardless of how sometimes it perpetuates the ideology that a woman needs to be physically strong to be generally strong, in all aspects of her life. I would like to comment on that particular front later on, in other chapters, although I'd like to present it as such here as well. Lydia's strength is the product of several years of training; most of which wasn't pleasant or even her choice. That doesn't, however, relieve her from emotional pain - it simply adds to her experiences and stories as a human being. Since, though, I strive for a general realism in the concept of historical accuracy, I'd like to present a different, much more 'thought-out' reason behind her ability, one somehow similar to that of the original (2015) movie.<br/>- I sincerely hope whoever reads this cares about such complex character developments as much as I do :P<br/>- If you've reached so far, thank you for reading, so very much!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Mistakes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey!<br/>I'm so sorry for not posting this week, some things happened.<br/>I'll post another chapter tomorrow as well, to make up for my absense :]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So, what do you think?”</p><p>“You look… so… wow…”</p><p>“Is that a bad thing?”</p><p>Illya stood at the entrance of Gaby’s apartment and looked at her from head to toe. She didn’t look as she usually did; neither was she wearing the plum dress she had showed him she had bought. Instead, Gaby stood tall in a black tuxedo with a white shirt tucked under a belt; the top buttons were undone, elegantly showing off her neck, with a loosened bowtie, while the long bottom hems were hiding a pair of high heels that made her significantly taller.</p><p>He stood in awe, trying to comprehend this massive change in her otherwise girly and picturesque style. He, most importantly, tried to figure out <em>how</em> he felt about it.</p><p>“Where did you get this?” he managed to ask, entering the apartment and closing the door behind him.</p><p>“Lydia loaned it to me,” she casually offered, turning around and heading for her coat.</p><p>“It sounds like you two became really good friends,” he noticed. She smiled.</p><p>“She really is a wonderful person,” Gaby replied; she wasn’t lying.</p><p>“And that’s what you’re wearing?” he asked, still in disbelief.</p><p>Gaby took a moment to contemplate her answer and examine Illya’s expression. After a minute, she smiled and nodded. “It is,” she flatly stated. She insisted on her choice; it made her feel good.</p><p>She didn’t have time to prepare arguments about whether or not she should keep the tuxedo, however. She barely had enough time to react when Illya sprang forward and lifted her up, pushing her against the wall…</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>As Napoleon made his way through the Masque Club, he noticed many familiar faces; some of them waved at him, others stopped and began asking him questions, and others seemed particularly interested in getting to know him in general. Waverly was one of those who abruptly approached him, tugging him away from the company of a lovely young woman that seemed <em>very</em> interested in him.</p><p>“Have you seen Mister Kuryachin and Miss Teller?” he asked in an obvious hurry.</p><p>Napoleon raised his one eyebrow. “They’re not here yet?” he asked.</p><p>Waverly sighed. “No, they aren’t; neither is Lydia.”</p><p>Napoleon paused, looking at his superior with worry. “She <em>is</em> coming, right?” he asked.</p><p>It was a ridiculous question to ask – or at least, it should’ve been. Napoleon felt silly for having to worry about something so minuscule and unimportant; and yet he was. Waverly furiously shook his head and let go of his arm, disappearing into the crowd of the club and letting the agent by himself.</p><p>At that moment, the ‘unimportant’ question he had felt silly asking became Napoleon’s only thought. It wasn’t easy explaining why he felt in such a way – it wasn’t as if he was interested in Lydia in any way. However, having worked with her for a while, he had grown accustomed to a certain level of professionalism he expected off her. Lydia had made herself known for her punctuality, even when she shouldn’t have been in the office at all.</p><p>He had witnessed her stumbling through the offices the day after her stabbing, pretending to be all right, before Waverly had her physically removed from the building and sent back home.  She had looked healthy but she hadn’t looked entirely well. It could’ve been her lack of rest, but maybe, just maybe, something else had happened.</p><p>Napoleon grabbed a glass of bourbon from a passing waiter and drank a good portion of it, <em>thinking</em>, trying to pretend his worry was of pure anthropological interest. He had to stop and remind himself that if something were to have happened to her, Waverly would’ve told them; he nonetheless seemed as baffled about her absence as anyone.  </p><p>“Drinking alone, Cowboy?”</p><p>Illya’s voice sounded odd in the buzzing of the people around them. Napoleon turned to look at the man but it took him a few seconds really to focus on him fully. He shook his head, emptying his glass.</p><p>“Where have you been?” he asked, faking an offended manner.</p><p>Illya chuckled and shrugged. “I was busy,” he stated. At that moment, Gaby showed up and smiled as she playfully leaned against Illya. Napoleon noticed her odd outfit with a raised eyebrow and then looked back at his friend.</p><p>“Is that what you call it now?” he sarcastically mused.</p><p>“What do you think of my outfit?” Gaby asked, making a small turn, trying not to spill her drink.</p><p>“Who did your styling for you, this time?” he asked.</p><p>Gaby shrugged. “It’s a loan, actually, courtesy of my dear friend, Lydia…”</p><p>Both Illya and Napoleon turned to look at her as she said the words ‘<em>dear friend</em>’.</p><p>“Is that so?” Napoleon asked, raising an interested smile. “So you two are <em>really</em> becoming friends?” he asked again, finding Gaby’s smug smirk a tad suspicious.</p><p>“Actually, as I said not too long ago, she really is a very interesting person. And yes, I think we’re becoming friends. She’s a breath of fresh air after spending three years with you, you know?”</p><p>“Such a tone for such a little lady,” Napoleon sarcastically mused.</p><p>“Isn’t it exciting?” Gaby mused back, matching his sarcastic voice.</p><p>“Where is she, anyway?” Illya suddenly asked, looking around.</p><p>“I don’t think she’s here yet,” Napoleon flatly replied, looking for a waiter again.</p><p>“Is she coming?”</p><p>“She should be here already,” Gaby replied, shrugging. “Oh, no…” she suddenly exclaimed; her face fell.</p><p>“What, what’s wrong?” Napoleon asked, again trying to mask his nervousness.</p><p>“She doesn’t have a car; she doesn’t have anything… No wonder she’s late, she doesn’t have a ride!” she offered, shaking her head. “How could we not have thought of that?”</p><p>“Yes, how could we have missed that,” Illya drawled, sarcastically.</p><p>As soon as Illya spoke, Gaby glared at him, before Waverly showed up and interrupted their conversation. He continued to look disheveled but tried to appear strict.</p><p>“Where have you two been?” he asked, still in that manner.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Gaby intervened, shaking her head. “I couldn’t come by myself and I forced Illya to make a small detour and pick me up,” she said, rehearsing her lie.</p><p>“What happened to you?” he asked with a suspicious look.</p><p>“Car troubles,” she offered simply.</p><p>“So I suppose you haven’t heard from Agent Odette?” he asked.</p><p>Gaby squared her shoulders and shook her head. “We were just talking about it. I don’t think she has a way to come over,” she said. “She told me she doesn’t own a car…”</p><p>“Lovely,” Waverly whiffed. “Could someone go to her home and check on her?” he asked.</p><p>“I don’t have a car,” Gaby replied, also with a sigh.</p><p>“Mister Solo, <em>please</em> go to her,” Waverly suddenly suggested.</p><p>“Why me?” Napoleon wondered back, raising his eyebrows.</p><p>“I don’t trust anyone else to go looking for her – besides, there’s no one in this group that can go, isn’t that right?” he said. He obliquely looked at Illya from the corner of his eye, obviously mentioning their unfinished conversation he hadn’t forgotten. Napoleon sighed, finishing his new drink and shaking his head.</p><p>“Fine,” he sighed. “Where does she live?”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>By the third time the doorbell rang, Napoleon grew impatient, and perhaps suspicious. Lydia’s door remained closed and it sounded as if no one was in the apartment anyway. He took a step back and looked at the door, trying to find the easiest way to break in unnoticed, as his concern grew more and more. He didn’t have enough time to come up with a plan, however.</p><p>As soon as he kneeled to look at the door handle, hurried steps on the stairs next to him forced him to stand back up. Suddenly, Lydia appeared, obviously in a hurry and with her face red. She was pulling her hair back out of her face as she nearly ran up the stairs, messily placing a large black bag over her shoulder. Napoleon stood silent and waited for her to notice him – she sharply jumped back startled as soon as she did.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” she breathlessly gasped; her hand shot up to her sides.</p><p>“I was sent to see if you’re all right,” Napoleon said. “<em>Are</em> you?” he asked, taking a step closer to her.</p><p>Lydia paused and looked at the man. She was out of breath and visibly shaking, either from the sudden drop in the temperature outside or from her elevated adrenaline. She looked upset and carrying a lot of tension, still she tried to wear it off with a smile.</p><p>“I’m fine,” she said, obviously lying. “I’m a little late, aren’t I?” she asked, trying to sound playful. She fished inside her coat’s pocket and found her keys, but her trembling hands made it impossible to unlock the door. Napoleon raised an eyebrow as she dropped the keys and mumbled something behind her teeth.</p><p>“Γαμώτο!” she gasped.</p><p>“Let me help,” he offered, bending to get the keys and opening the door.</p><p>“Thank you,” she offered with a sigh of relief as she pointed inside her apartment. “I should get ready,” she said. She continued to look upset, even though she meant to appear careless.</p><p>“Do you have a way to come over?” he asked, trying to sound as neutral as possible as well.</p><p>“I will take a taxi; I’ll be fine,” she replied. Something in her voice made her not credible.</p><p>“I can wait for you to get ready,” he softly offered, also pointing at the door. “I am going to drive back there anyway, it’s really no trouble!”</p><p>Napoleon made an effort to sound careless and chivalrous, in a suave and nonchalant manner. Lydia however completely ignored his efforts. She seemed a bit too desperate to get rid of some of the energy inside her. She looked at Napoleon, a bit too overwhelmed to disagree with him and sighed.</p><p>“I suppose, if you don’t mind waiting, it would be really helpful,” she said, entering the apartment.</p><p>He followed her inside, closing the door behind them. He spent a full minute looking over the place, which came in complete contrast with the actual cave in which he had imagined her living. Instead, Lydia walked down the long corridor and threw her bag down. Something made a clunking noise after the heavy thud the bag made hitting the floor. He raised an eyebrow, looking at her running her hands through her hair.</p><p>“Would it be totally inappropriate of me to ask if everything’s all right?” he finally wondered aloud.</p><p>She didn’t turn to face him. Instead, she kept her hands through her hair, taking deep breaths while trying to suppress the urge to vomit. Suddenly, though, her need grew stronger and she began running towards the bathroom. He followed her, actually concerned.</p><p>He stood by the entrance in silence, watching her leaning over the toilet bowl and trying to get rid of the bad taste she had on the inside. Nothing happened. After some unsuccessful tries, Lydia kneeled on the floor and placed her forehead on the cold brim of the bathtub, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths.</p><p>“Lydia?”</p><p>His voice sounded strange in the echo of the bathroom. It broke the temporary silence as he took a few cautious steps towards the visibly upset woman and kneeled next to her, looking at her.</p><p>“I was on a mission,” she suddenly sighed – she didn’t open her eyes.</p><p>“I didn’t know you had taken a mission,” he replied, settling close to her. Considering how she was supposed to be an active field agent, as he was, he had assumed she wouldn’t work on her own unless something of extraordinary importance came up. Lydia hummed and opened her eyes.</p><p>“I’m not an U.N.C.L.E. agent yet,” she mumbled.</p><p>“What?” he gasped. She looked at him.</p><p>“I haven’t had an official… transition, yet,” she added. She slowly rose her head. “Technically, I still work for my… <em>old</em> boss,” she offered.</p><p>He noticed her face that had turned pale and shook his head. “You took on a mission for them, then?” he asked. She closed her eyes again and sighed.</p><p>“My ex-handler called. I wanted to say no, but…”</p><p>“You couldn’t.”</p><p>“Is mister Waverly upset?” she suddenly asked.</p><p>“He’s mostly worried,” he replied in a soothing voice.</p><p>“I really didn’t want to come to this party,” she suddenly mumbled.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t you? It’s a party for <em>you</em>!”</p><p>His words made Lydia open her eyes again and look at him in a sarcastic manner. She offered him a tired smile and shook her head. “You really want to diminish this gathering as much as you can, don’t you?” she asked, scoffing.</p><p>“What does <em>that</em> mean?” he wondered.</p><p>“It means you’ll try to do anything possible to make sure it’s insulting to me,” she offered.</p><p>“That’s rude,” he noticed.</p><p>“Not as rude as assuming this is <em>all</em> about <em>me</em>,” she replied, slowly standing up.</p><p>“It’s an occasion to welcome you in the office,” he replied as well, following her up. “I suppose <em>this</em> could be your transition,” he added.</p><p>Lydia sighed. “Have you even asked him what this is?” she asked. “To save you the trouble, it’s about all of <em>us</em>,” she said.</p><p>Her statement was flat but her voice a little angry. Napoleon followed her out as she made her way past him out the bathroom and towards her bedroom, where she removed her coat with a wince of pain.</p><p>“What does <em>that</em> mean?” he wondered again, waiting for her to look at him.</p><p>“It means this party <em>isn’t</em> a party – and it’s certainly not in my ‘honor’,” she said, looking at him. “It’s an <em>evaluation</em> – they want to see how the agency is working. Waverly wants to show us all off, to make it visible the agency works as it’s <em>supposed</em> to in order to get more funding,” she added, unbuttoning her shirt.</p><p>Napoleon raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What?” he gasped. “How do you know that?”</p><p>“I <em>asked</em> him!” she pointed out, removing her shirt with the same wince. “I’m sure you’d know about it too had you bothered to <em>ask</em>,” she added and walked past him again, back towards the bathroom.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t he tell us about it?” he continued, still following her outside.</p><p>She sighed. “He assumed you’d understand,” she replied with exasperation, as she looked at her stitched wound through the mirror. Her fingers hovered the bruised area and she winced again. “It’s not as if he can throw <em>parties</em>… Who would he invite anyway?” she then wondered, still exasperated, as she turned on the tap of the sink and began rubbing her hands on a bar of soap.</p><p>Napoleon stood at the door, looking at her beginning to wash her face, nearly half-naked from the waist up and trying to ignore a few concerning scratches on her neck and arms.</p><p>“It sounded different when I heard about it,” he insisted, although his voice had lost its confidence.</p><p>She waited until after she was done washing up, to look at him through the mirror. “Was it during the same ‘buzz’ of me taking Agent Jackson as a date?” she sarcastically mused, wiping her face on a towel.</p><p>He rolled his eyes.</p><p>“There are simpler ways of telling someone you don’t like them, you know,” she suddenly said.</p><p>Napoleon sharply looked at her direction and through the mirror noticed her tiredly sighing. He opened his mouth to say something; however, she quickly looked up and walked past him, back towards her bedroom, closing the door.</p><p>It took her about fifteen minutes to get dressed. She opened the door and walked out, standing even taller on a pair of high heels that made her legs seem longer in the short dress. Napoleon had to look at her twice as she swiftly placed her hair in a high ponytail and sighed.</p><p>“I’m ready,” she announced.</p><p>Back in the silence of the car, he drove while she tiredly leaned against her hand on the window. He looked at her a couple of times, whenever he could, wishing to absorb her sudden change, both in clothes and in mood. Stopping at a red light, he finally summoned enough strength to speak.</p><p>“It’s not as if I don’t like you,” he cautiously began saying.</p><p>“You still don’t have to do this, mister Solo,” she replied, exhausted. “No one is forcing you to be my <em>friend</em>,” she offered, again leaning on her hand.</p><p>They continued driving in silence until they reached the Masque Club. Once inside, Waverly quickly approached them and tugged on her arm, taking her away from him and immediately introducing her to some people. Gaby also joined their conversation, excited to see Lydia in general.</p><p>“What’s wrong with you?” Illya suddenly asked, having approached his friend in silence.</p><p>Napoleon looked at him before sighing, shaking his head. “Well,” he began saying, pushing his hands in his pockets. “I guess I’m a dick…”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The night wore heavy on Lydia’s shoulders and with each hour that progressed it became even worse. Her day overall had been exhausting and having to socialize at the end of it became a task she couldn’t complete. She had never been a social person or even someone who enjoyed talking all that much. She had always preferred to observe and not share everything – it was always easier that way.  </p><p>However, Waverly had made it abundantly clear he wished for her to meet as many people as possible. Having her in U.N.C.L.E. was an ‘<em>honor of extraordinary proportions</em>’. According to his words to some of the generals and high-ranking members of the agencies that had attended the party, she was his finest acquisition.</p><p>“How did you manage to get her?” a man had asked with a shrill laugh.</p><p>“We’re actually very lucky she <em>decided</em> to join,” Waverly had joked.</p><p>It became clear no one knew who Lydia was or exactly what she had been up to prior to that gathering. Waverly continued talking about her, purposely ignoring the blanks of her life story and instead focusing on the known facts about her, including some stories that were fabricated for convenience. There was a reason why no one knew who Lydia was, after all…</p><p>While trying to navigate through the complicated social elite of New York, however, Lydia found herself avoiding someone in particular. <em>Napoleon</em>. He would also follow her and Waverly around, making himself seen by the groups Waverly began coaxing into a conversation. He appeared to be interested in Lydia, wishing to continue their conversation, having thought of more examples and reasons about <em>not</em> hating her. She had realized his attempts, however, and she purposely avoided him, focusing her attention on other people instead.</p><p>She couldn’t fathom a reason for someone like Napoleon Solo to want with such need to reassure her he didn’t hate her. He had been sufficiently cold and indifferent towards her even since she came to the agency, and for some reason she had enjoyed that. She had liked the idea of not having to create ‘friendships’ with many people. She had enjoyed the general calmness, regardless of the constant grapevine of gossip surrounding her and her life.</p><p>It wasn’t easy doing either, however, neither ignoring Napoleon nor talking to random strangers with such pretentious excitement. Constantly sharing things about herself continued being a task Lydia neither liked nor could handle at <em>that</em> moment.</p><p>The moment Waverly looked away long enough, she escaped on the third floor and through there towards the only room in which she knew, she could find some peace. She entered the agency and walked to the library where she leaned against one of the heavy, ornate desks. The silence of the room was intoxicating, working wonders on her soaring temples and slowly phasing out the buzzing of the ‘party’. She closed her eyes and rubbed the base of her nose, taking a few relaxing breaths.</p><p>“Sitting alone?”</p><p>Lydia took a long sigh as Illya’s voice sounded both sarcastic and annoying. He casually made his way in the room, examining it and then Lydia, before settling opposite her and waiting for her to open her eyes. It took her a few seconds to handle the emotional stress of having to interact with a man that seemingly meant trouble. She finally opened her eyes and looked at him, trying to muster enough obedience to be courteous and just.</p><p>“Is it illegal seeking some solace, Mister Kuryachin?” she asked. She did not attempt to hide her sarcasm. Illya raised his one eyebrow, his face matching her tone, and crossed his arms behind his back.</p><p>“I suppose it isn’t illegal,” he offered, purposely daring.</p><p>“Then why did you follow me here?” she asked.</p><p>“I was surprised to see you go – this party is for <em>you</em>, is it not?”</p><p>Lydia looked at the blond man, realizing Illya was intentionally being sarcastic and provocative. His voice was poisonous and his face looked at her with clear suspicion and hatred. It took her a lot of effort not to read too much into his pure disgust, something that would surely evolve into a fight. She instead fixed her posture and looked at him, crossing her arms on her chest.</p><p>“It’s such a typical reaction, what you’re doing,” she noticed. “You’re trying, much like your friend, to ridicule me by making this occasion <em>ironically</em> about me…”</p><p>Illya paused, aghast by her direct stab. “I’m not trying to belittle anyone,” he tried to argue.</p><p>“Oh, but you are,” she insisted, shrugging. “You’re trying to mask your anger about not being as <em>celebrated</em> as I’m supposedly being by belittling everything this night is,” she argued. “Ignoring, of course, how this isn’t all about me and it’s as much about everyone else as it is about me. But then again, you don’t care about everyone else; you simply care about me and how much you don’t like a woman being shown off more than you!”</p><p>Lydia’s words felt like constant slaps on Illya’s cheeks. His face changed as he realized his jabs were making her fire back, only her criticisms were much more aimed and mean. She raised a tired smile and shook her head before standing up, heading for the door.</p><p>“Where are you going?” he asked, instinctively taking a step forward; he wasn’t done.</p><p>“You know, Mister Kuryachin, I really can’t understand why you don’t like me,” she suddenly said, sharply turning to look at him. “I mean, I suppose it’s natural you can’t get along with everyone – you’re not supposed to. I’m just having a hard time understanding why you’re so precisely upset about <em>my</em> existence,” she argued.</p><p>“I do not trust you,” he replied, flatly and coldly.</p><p>“As opposed to me <em>having</em> to trust <em>you</em>,” she argued again.</p><p>“You don’t <em>have</em> to – but you do know everything about me. I <em>have</em> a file,” he suddenly said.</p><p>Lydia’s eyes, much like Waverly’s, lit in recognition. “And I don’t,” she calmly said – her eyes betrayed her sudden shift in tone and her nervousness.</p><p>“So it <em>is</em> true?” he concluded, taking another step forward.</p><p>“Have you been looking?” she asked back.</p><p>The tension in the room grew lethally high as both agents, both with poor self-control and with a lot of temper, began realizing the other’s intentions. Illya looked at Lydia with suspicion and she looked at him back with panic.</p><p>“I can’t help but wonder why someone with your abilities would hide their identity,” he suddenly began saying, taking another step closer to her and beginning to circle around her. “Why wouldn’t they want to have their name heard?” he wondered again, hiding a sarcastic chuckle. “What are you hiding, miss <em>Odette</em>?” he asked, standing directly behind her.</p><p>“Has it ever occurred to you, mister Kuryachin that not everyone’s running away from the same things?” she asked back. A nervous tremble took over her as something inside her stomach began shaking.</p><p>“What is that supposed to mean?” he wondered.</p><p>“Some of us are hiding from spies and agencies – some of us are simply trying to hide from our pasts.”</p><p>Her words held a meaning much more important to Illya than he had hoped. He raised his eyebrow before returning to look at her face, staring into her eyes. “That’s still not reason enough,” he flatly added.</p><p>“I’m <em>so</em> sorry to disappoint you,” she sarcastically mused, in a low voice.</p><p>Their eyes met for a brief second before Lydia took a deep breath and decided to turn around. The continuation of the conversation could only mean something bad. However, Illya was still not done.</p><p>“Where are you going?” he asked again.</p><p>“I’m leaving this room,” she said, without turning around. “Staying here runs the risks of getting you hurt again,” she added.</p><p>Illya scoffed. “Are you talking about Birmingham?”</p><p>“I did do quite a number on you,” she slowly replied, finally turning to look at him.</p><p>“You only got the disc because Napoleon was holding it,” he suddenly replied, in a voice matching her low tone. “Nothing would be the same had I had it.”</p><p>“I seemed to manage you just fine,” she softly insisted with a soft shrug.</p><p>Illya took a moment to contain his anger. “I was protecting…”</p><p>“Gaby?” she interrupted him, taking a step forward. “She was the only one that <em>matched</em> me.”</p><p>Lydia spoke as provocatively as she could, continuing to stare deep into Illya’s eyes, matching all his hatred and disgust. Her last words, however, made Illya’s anger grow even more. He unclenched his hands from behind his back, feeling them turning into fists, on their own accord.</p><p>“Don’t make the mistake of thinking you bested me because you tricked me,” he said, slowly, warningly. “This wouldn’t have happened in real life.”</p><p>“Real life?” she scoffed. “You think I won because Waverly had made it so?” she asked, her own hands turning into fists.</p><p>Illya, narrowing his eyes, softly raised his shoulders in a non-committal shrug.</p><p>A very unpleasant sensation was then spread in Lydia’s chest as his words settled in. He made it, abundantly, clear he believed Waverly had been the reason why she had been a match for him. He made it so, ignoring all the reasons that went behind making the night in Birmingham what it was and how her actual capabilities were the reasons for her eventual win. He tried once again to belittle Lydia’s strength in a somewhat desperate effort to boost the ego that wanted him being <em>better</em> than what he was being credited. Seeing the hatred and clear annoyance in his eyes, presented Lydia with a choice.</p><p>Many things had gone wrong that day. She hadn’t had any more energy left when she had walked in the club that evening. Still, as she looked at the Russian man provocatively trying to coax her into a trap of his own making, sparkled her anger issues and ignited her will to prove, yet again, whom exactly she was. Sure enough, she had never wanted her name to be heard as that of a great agent…</p><p>Because Lydia was the <em>Nightingale</em>.</p><p>She took a deep breath and slowly turned around, heading for the door. Listening to Illya’s ignorant and sarcastic chuckle stiffened her already stretched nerves, but she ignored it as she took a hold of the door. She cautiously looked outside, making sure no one was there and then, slowly, almost painfully so, closed it. She turned the key in the lock and after the clicking was heard, she turned around and faced him, with the anger inside her boiling legally hot.</p><p>“Well, then, <em>Peril</em>,” she said in perfect Russian, in a low voice. “<em>Let’s find out…</em>”   </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- A few additional notes about the relationships between the protagonists and how they will evolve.<br/>- I suppose, technically speaking, this chapter ends on a cliffhanger?<br/>- I know Lydia says a word that's not english, but much like everything about her (still) this will be explained in a few chapters (unless of course you know that language...) (P.S. It's kind of a bad word!)<br/>- If you've reached so far and continue reading, thank you so very, VERY much!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Wonderful Party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello!<br/>I still don't know if anyone's following with this fic. If you are, I'm sorry for not posting.<br/>Thank you for reading, though!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What is that…?”</p><p>Illya was suddenly silenced, as Lydia’s body sprang forward and made him lose his balance, nearly tumbling down. He fought to get a breath, a hatched one, as her arms intensified the pressure around his ribs like a vice, and stand back on his feet.</p><p>Certainly, he had provoked her; certainly, it wasn’t necessarily the time, or place, to bring up this subject and demand questions. But he hadn’t anticipated her to act on her impulse and anger, although now that he had a brief second to regain his control, he wasn’t sure why he had expected anything else.</p><p>Lydia <em>wanted</em> a fight.</p><p>He managed to push her off him, seeing her also take a few uncertain steps, but before he had time to sit straight and try, as much as he could, to reason with her, she had jumped on his back. She wrapped her arms around his neck, following them by her legs around his waist, latching herself on top of him and applying even more pressure on his neck. Fighting for oxygen, Illya barely had time to throw his hands out and push his elbow to her. By her scream, a yelp that nearly deafened him, he realized he must’ve hit her stitches. She quickly let him go, holding her sides.</p><p>“Have you lost your mind?” he yelled in Russian, running his hand down his throat.</p><p>“You said real life, <em>Peril</em>,” she replied, also in Russian, as she looked at her hand; it was red, tainted by her blood. “This <em>is</em> real life,” she suddenly said, in a voice so low that for a brief second Illya panicked.</p><p>Without too much interlude, she sprang forward again; he had a brief second to move and push her off him, throwing her body as if it was that of a rag doll against one of the libraries. Her fall broke several shelves, sending books flying everywhere as she tumbled down. She rolled on her stomach, groaning in distress; however, as soon as he leaned over her, she quickly grabbed the heaviest book she could find.</p><p>She swiftly jumped back up, swinging the book against his head with a force that made him spin. He sloppily fell back, over a desk, and she followed him, punching his sides. He groaned and sat up, punching her, aiming for her clavicle.</p><p>Even in this mayhem, as Lydia held her soaring bone, she eyed him with suspicion.</p><p>“Are you holding back?” she asked, panting. “You really shouldn’t,” she added in a low voice, springing forward again.</p><p>He stopped her by moving to the side, but she flung her foot upwards, aiming and hitting his groin. He groaned again, swearing as his hands flew there and he kneeled. She reached for the book again, swinging it over the side of his face, nearly reveling in the thud he made as he fell over.</p><p>“That’s it!” he spat between his panting, standing up.</p><p>Swiftly, he flew his fist out, finding her face. The force was enough to make her dizzy, he wasn’t holding back anymore; she span around and fell on another desk, holding her face. He walked up behind her, untying his tie in a swift move and wrapping it around her neck, as he tugged her on to him. She gasped, fighting for air, but as she felt his chest on her back, clenching from the effort, she realized something.</p><p>She had started that fight – and she would <em>finish</em> it.</p><p>Lydia reached over and took a hold of one of the desk lamps. Without thinking too much about it, she threw it back, managing to hit him on the head, making his grip loosen. He took some uncertain steps; she followed the hit with some more punches, and several kicks, making sure the pointy part of her shoes was aiming at his skin. He finally collapsed on the floor.</p><p>In a brief second, he sat up again, taking a hold of her dress and throwing her down on him, budding his head on hers. Finding her loss of focus as time awarding, he found her stitches again and punched them, as hard as he could.</p><p>The blood began pouring, escaping the fabric that was instantly soaked, and running down her thigh. The room was filled with its heavy, metallic scent, and as the pain flashed behind her eyes, she bit down another cry by holding her wound. Her hand was again full of blood, but as he sharply stood up, she jumped on his back again.</p><p>Her hand blinded him, filling his face with blood. As he felt her on his back, again ready to apply pressure on his neck, he swore, and took several steps backwards, aiming for a wall. He reached another bookcase and hearing her gasps of pain, he began throwing his body against the surface. Several more shelves broke under their combined weight; she continued to gasp in pain, but with each hit, her hold around him grew tighter.</p><p>Desperate, Illya reached behind him and took a hold of her hair. With all his force, he managed to tug on her ponytail, literally dragging her over his shoulder simply by holding her hair. He stopped her from hitting the ground or losing her balance, and he wrapped his knotted tie around her neck again, tugging her on to him.</p><p>Lydia gasped, throwing her legs in the air. He had lifted her, not letting her touch the ground, and the realization hit her. She began swinging her whole body, managing to find the surface of another desk; she used that as leverage, firmly placing her legs there to jump upwards, loosening his grip by falling down and making him fall over her. She felt his body heavy on her already bruised back, but before he had time to regain his control, she reached for his hair and jacket, throwing him off her and forcefully pushing him on the floor.</p><p>Something cracked under his weight.</p><p>As Lydia’s legs began kicking him wherever they could, Illya gasped. He blindly reached around, finding a book; he threw it up to her, managing to hit her on the face. It distracted her enough to make her tumble down, and with another kick in her stomach, she fell on top of a desk, breaking her one heel off.</p><p>The fight continued, with both agents kicking and punching each part of the other they could find, forcing each other to gasp and groan in pain…     </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Have you seen Illya?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Illya; have you seen him?”</p><p>Gaby’s voice rang exasperation as she looked at her watch. It had been almost thirty minutes since the last time she saw him and it was approximately so since the last time Waverly found Lydia. Napoleon, finishing his drink, offered his friend a puzzled look.</p><p>“I haven’t seen him. Why?”</p><p>“Because I haven’t seen him either; I also don’t know where Lydia is!”</p><p>“Please don’t tell me you’re worried they’re together,” he sarcastically mused.</p><p>“It wouldn’t be unlikely!”</p><p>“Why? What would they be doing?”</p><p>“I don’t <em>know</em>!” she sighed in anger, shaking her head. “Can you please help me find them? They aren’t at the party!”</p><p>“Fine!” he sighed, making a dramatic gesture with his hand. “Let’s go to the library. Maybe she’s there!”</p><p>“Why would she be there?”</p><p>“I think she’s avoiding us,” he casually replied, not bothering to mention why he had gotten that idea.</p><p>Gaby and Napoleon both headed for the stairs, making their way to the agency and then heading for the library. From afar, they noticed the door was closed, something that never happened; the closer they got, the stronger a muffled humming became. Napoleon looked at Gaby with worry, finally believing something <em>could</em> go wrong; however as soon as they reached the door, they realized the moans they heard from behind the door weren’t sounds of pleasure.</p><p>“There you are!” Waverly suddenly asked, making both Gaby and Napoleon jump back startled. He hastily reached them, having followed them upstairs, and gasped. “Have you seen agents…?” he asked, but paused as the sound from behind the door came to him. “What’s that?” he asked panicking.</p><p>Neither had no time to reply; something fell heavily against the closed door, making several thuds as it hit the surface repeatedly. A woman’s voice cried in pain before a man followed, along with a series of Russian profanities.</p><p>“Is that Lydia and Illya?” Waverly managed to gasp.</p><p>“Do something!” Gaby suddenly screamed as she moved forward and began fighting with the door’s handle.</p><p>“I don’t have my tools,” Napoleon replied, numbed from the realization of what was happening.</p><p>“Then break the door down!”</p><p>Gaby’s words continued to ring exasperation. Her idea however sounded like the most revolutionary idea Napoleon had ever heard. He softly pushed her aside as more and more yells of pain came from the inside and then began falling on the door with all of his might. After the fifth or sixth push, the door finally collapsed under his weight and revealed the scene they had all dreaded.</p><p>Lydia was again latched on Illya, having her elbow wrapped against his neck, her free hand pulling on his hair and her legs limply waving back as Illya ran around like a headless chicken, gasping for air. Napoleon sprang upwards and forward, trying to get a hold of her.</p><p>“Hey, hey, let him go,” he mumbled, trying to remove her. She protested by pushing her legs towards any direction, hitting him on the hand with her remaining heel and accidentally punching his cheek. Waverly intervened just in time, using a lot of force to unwrap her arm from around Illya’s neck. Napoleon held her up, holding his balance as she began kicking the air but not before one of her kicks landed on the back of Illya’s head. Another thud was heard, before Illya pleadingly looked at Waverly and collapsed on the floor.</p><p>A heavy silence fell in the room.</p><p>Lydia, gasping, freed herself from Napoleon’s hold, falling on her knees; she spat on the ground, trying to get rid of the blood that had nestled in her mouth and then, gasping, stood up. She uncertainly swayed in the room while everyone tried to understand what had happened, before she placed her left arm between her legs and forcefully pushed her shoulder back. The bone made a cracking noise as it got back in its socket and she finally looked up, realizing behind her tears that three people very angrily stared at her.</p><p>“What a wonderful party, mister Waverly,” she mumbled in her best British accent.</p><p>Before anyone had time to react to her words <em>or</em> her actions, Lydia ran her hand through her ruined hair and began limping towards the door, feeling a small trail forming from her blood as she made her way through the exit, past a very confused and slightly angry Gaby…</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Lydia managed to climb the stairs with a lot of difficulty, as each step sent jolts of pain everywhere there was skin on her body. It wasn’t until after she reached her door that she realized she had left her things back at the agency, but there was no way she could go take any of them. She used the extra key she had lodged at the doorframe and collapsed on the floor as soon as she dragged herself inside.</p><p>She didn’t have time to lose – she quickly ran to her bathroom and looked at herself, examining her figure with utter horror. The bloody, bloated and dirty image she saw was enough to scare her. She limped back in the kitchen, hastily going through the drawers to find a pair of scissors. She cut the dress off her with quick and angry moves and then reached for the only bottle of alcohol she had managed to acquire since the time she had gotten to New York.  </p><p>Again limping, she reached the bathroom – she stepped in the bathtub, turned on the water and opened the bottle of vodka. She began chugging as much of the alcohol as she could before she turned the showerhead on her body. The blood began accumulating on the floor of the bathtub and the image terrified her, along with the unbearable pain that went through her as soon as the water touched her scars.</p><p>Leaned over the white porcelain, Lydia began stitching herself up, trying to hold the needle as steady as possible. She felt her entire body shaking from the adrenaline and the anger that had begun building inside of her, as the images of the night came back to her. As soon as she stitched the most significant wound on her body, her stab wound, she walked out of the bathtub and wrapped a large bandage around her whole torso, making sure the gauges would stay where they should. She finally leaned over the sink and began taking deep breaths; she returned her attention on the bottle of vodka and emptied as much as she could handle before her stomach disagreed with a roar.</p><p>Lydia meticulously placed ice-patches on her skin, trying to minimize the swelling of the parts she felt aching as if they had a heartbeat of their own. After she was done with the preparation of what needed to be done without going to a hospital, she finally collapsed on her bed.</p><p>Once again, the pain that went through her was insufferable. Once again, it wasn’t just physical anymore. Hot tears began rolling down her cheeks as she buried her face in the pillow and screamed from the bottom of her lungs, realizing that perhaps all of this had been a mistake…</p><p>The sound of the city that came from her window would usually be too distracting for her to sleep. That night, however, it was the perfect lullaby for her to surrender in a dreamless, restless sleep, wondering if anyone would be coming to get her for having acted so unprofessionally in a typically professional environment.</p><p>Nothing happened…  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- If you've reached so far, thank you so much for reading! Also thank you for sticking by it even though I hadn't posted for a while!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Sad Truths</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Posting another chapter to make up for the lost time!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Aren’t you tired of living in the shadows? Aren’t you tired of not having a name? Don’t you ever wish you could just… be?” </em>
</p><p>Waverly’s haunting words were the last thing Lydia dreamed of before she sharply sat up on her bed. It took her a few minutes to realize the screaming was coming from <em>her</em> mouth and her pain was not a manifestation of her dreams.</p><p>The sun had come up.</p><p>Lydia was drenched in sweat and her sheets were in complete disarray, with drops of blood having escaped her bandages. Even though, as a person, she was very neat and always made her bed as soon as she got off it, that morning she felt she could make an exception as she ran to the bathroom and leaned over the toilet bowl. It was the second time in less than two days that her body felt the need to <em>eject</em> the bad taste it had on the inside, and yet for the second time nothing but bile came up. Limping, and with her entire body aching, she reached for the sink where she washed her face and slowly began salvaging what had remained of her ponytail. Once again, her image scared her.</p><p>In silence, Lydia began working on her morning routine, trying very hard not to think about her dreams. The previous day had been erased in the endless maze of terrifying images that resurfaced in her subconscious. It had been a while, a <em>long</em> while, since the last time she had dreamed about her family and her house. It had been a while since the last time her actions came to haunt her.</p><p>However, the emotional turmoil she had gone through the night before had been as good a reason as any for her mind to travel back there involuntarily. Suddenly, something inside her moved as she remembered her sleeping pills and cursed the moment that she had believed she wouldn’t need them.</p><p>After she got dressed with the first things she found, she walked to her living room and stood still for a moment. She needed to think, <em>really</em> think, of what her next move should be. Before she could analyze and put her thoughts in order, however, her doorbell rang. She silently moved behind the door and looked through the peephole, cursing behind her teeth as she opened the door.</p><p>“Good morning.”</p><p>Napoleon awkwardly stood at the entrance, looking at Lydia with a mixture of worry and curiosity. Her image wasn’t pleasing, and she realized his aversion as soon as he made a grimace; it was supposed to be quick and unnoticeable, however she saw it. He continued standing in silence, waiting for her to say something – Lydia, however, began examining him from head to toe. There was a small bruise on his right cheek and a scratch on his left hand, where her jacket from the night before was hanging. She raised her eyebrows as she crossed her arms on her chest, regretting the action immediately after several more jolts of pain spread on her torso.</p><p>“Did Waverly send you?” she asked, not bothering to keep up a façade of good manners.</p><p>He sighed. “He was worried about you,” he said, shaking his head. “He wanted to make sure you’re…”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Lydia lied, interrupting him.</p><p>He raised an eyebrow. “Illya had to be taken to the hospital,” he offered.</p><p>“Is he dead?” she asked in the most nonchalant manner she could muster.</p><p>“No; but he would be had we not taken him there in time,” he replied.</p><p>Lydia bit the inside of her cheek and dag her nails in her arm, not knowing what she could say.</p><p>“This is yours, isn’t it?” Napoleon suddenly asked, presenting her the jacket.</p><p>She took it and sighed, making a silly callback to the time she had presented him his jacket. She shook her head. “Is that all?” she asked.</p><p>Napoleon paused, staring at her. “Waverly wanted to make sure you get to the office,” he said.</p><p>“Or else?” she sarcastically asked.</p><p>He raised his one eyebrow. “Are you going to put up a fight?”</p><p>Lydia sighed again, putting on the jacket and closing the door behind her. “Does it even matter?” she wondered, locking the door and walking down the stairs, without really waiting for him.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Everyone was looking at Lydia – everyone was staring. She felt every inch of her body aching, almost as if their eyes were equipped with knives that they actually threw at her. She hadn’t gotten a single clue as to what they had heard had happened the night before, but as she made her way through the offices, she suddenly realized she did <em>not</em> care.</p><p>Elaine greeted her with a standard smile and signaled her to open the door by herself. She did as she was told and entered the room; unsurprisingly Waverly was talking on the phone, with his chair turned backwards. She recognized he was speaking in Farsi, probably, before he pointed at the seat in front of him and turned around again, continuing his conversation. Lydia refused to comply, however. She intended to make the meeting as brief as possible.</p><p>“I’m sorry about that,” Waverly said, hanging up the phone and turning to face her. She shrugged.</p><p>“It’s all right,” she lied.</p><p>“Aren’t you going to take a seat?” he wondered.</p><p>“No; I don’t think it’s necessary…”</p><p>Waverly nodded; he sat up, buttoning his jacket, and walked around his desk to stand in front of Lydia. He casually leaned against the surface of the desk and crossed his arms on his chest. He examined her scars and bruises from head to toe and then shook his head in disbelief.</p><p>“I don’t know what happened yesterday,” he began saying, “but I spoke to Mister Kuryachin. We’re clear to move forward and forget all about last night,” he stated.</p><p>Lydia raised her eyebrows. “Is that all you have to say?” she breathlessly asked.</p><p>He shrugged. “I spoke to Davies,” he flatly replied.</p><p>“Did you?” she, again breathlessly, asked.</p><p>“I understand you must be feeling slightly upset, lately. I suppose we’re partly to blame. That’s why I don’t intend on letting this get out of hand,” he offered, again shaking his head.</p><p>“I would say it’s <em>already</em> out of hand,” she replied; she felt her eyes filling with tears, but refused to let her anger get the best of her.</p><p>“He has a concussion, two bruised ribs and a sprained ankle,” Waverly replied, ostensibly nonchalantly.</p><p>“That’s serious,” Lydia tried to argue, but he shrugged.</p><p>“He told me how the attack was initiated,” he began saying.</p><p>“Are you going to ignore my breaching of all the protocols, just like that?” she interrupted him.</p><p>Waverly shrugged again. “I know you’re not made of stone. Anyone would be upset in that particular situation,” he tried to argue. She shook her head.</p><p>“He was <em>trying</em> to get a rise out of me,” she said.</p><p>“I’m aware,” he replied.</p><p>“He succeeded.” </p><p>“That’s not necessarily true.”</p><p>“Why are you so calm about this?”</p><p>Obviously, Lydia hadn’t had the ability simply to move past what she had done. She had vowed to herself to be professional and calm entering U.N.C.L.E., allowing herself to be a team player for the first time in her entire life. She had meant to keep a high profile and maintain some boundaries – but she had broken them all. She hadn’t anticipated her punishment with excitement, but she did expect something to happen. Waverly’s casual approach confused and angered her.</p><p>“What did Senator Spears do to you?” he suddenly asked. Her sudden silence and widened eyes spoke volumes.</p><p>“I took care of that,” she flatly replied, trying to push her tears away.</p><p>“<em>That’s</em> why I’m so calm about this,” he replied, standing up and fixing his jacket.</p><p>“I don’t want you to be so calm,” she suddenly said.</p><p>“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”</p><p>“What do you think is going to happen?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” he said. He seemed honest, but baffled.</p><p>“That’s not very comforting.”           </p><p>“All I know is that our planned mission was supposed to start in a month, regardless. I had anticipated an adjustment period – we were prepared for this!”</p><p>“He knows I don’t have a file!” she suddenly said. She expected some sort of arguments, but Waverly paused, shook his head and sighed. “You knew about this?” she gasped.</p><p>“He had mentioned it,” he tried to brush it off.</p><p>“Wow,” she gasped.</p><p>“It doesn’t mean anything,” he argued.</p><p>“How long do you think it’s going to be before he tells someone?” she suddenly asked. “How long will it be before other people find out and want to know why?”</p><p>“I’m not concerned about this…”</p><p>“You should be.”</p><p>“I shouldn’t. And you shouldn’t be either,” he added, raising his hand. “I will take care of this!” he said, almost promising it to her. She shook her head.</p><p>“I don’t want you to do that,” she suddenly stated. He raised his eyebrow and took a step closer.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“I mean what I said,” she offered, shaking her head. “I don’t think this was a good idea…”</p><p>Waverly paused; he examined her face and shook his head, realizing where she was going with that. “Lydia, don’t say something you’ll regret–” he began saying.</p><p>“I think I should quit,” she suddenly interrupted him.</p><p>“Saying…” he continued.</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“I don’t understand.”</p><p>“I do; I don’t think I belong here…”</p><p>Again, Waverly paused and examined her face. “Lydia, don’t make this mistake. I <em>want</em> you here. You <em>belong</em> here!”</p><p>“I don’t know where I belong, mister Waverly, but I know that somewhere <em>isn’t</em> here.” She spoke with certainty and her sudden shift in tone scared him. He took another cautious step forward.</p><p>“Lydia; I don’t know why you think this, but you really shouldn’t. There was a reason why I chose you!”</p><p>She scoffed. “You chose me because you were impressed a <em>woman</em> could do anything like that!” she replied; her voice dripped vitriol. “I know you believe that’s a compliment, but it really isn’t.”</p><p>“I don’t… I don’t understand what…”</p><p>“You don’t have to,” she stopped me. “We’re not a good team – they can’t accept who I am.”</p><p>“They don’t <em>know</em> who you are!”</p><p>“And they <em>can’t</em> find out,” she said. “This just wasn’t a good idea…”</p><p>“So that’s it? You’ll quit and return to England?” he asked; his face had turned into a grimace of pain.</p><p>She sighed. “I’m not thrilled about it, either. At least nobody knows what happened to me,” she added.</p><p>“Would…” he began saying and stopped. “Would it make any difference if I <em>insisted</em> on asking you to stay?” he asked, looking into her eyes.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she replied, shaking her head.</p><p>“I see,” he sighed and nodded. “Well, Lydia, I’m not going to force you to stay if you don’t wish to…”</p><p>“Naturally, I’ll always be at your service if you ever need me,” she suddenly said.</p><p>“Naturally,” he replied with a soft, sarcastic smile.</p><p>They remained silent for a few seconds, letting the silence settle their words in their minds. Lydia took a step forward and cautiously approached him. She wrapped her arms around him in a firm hug that he reciprocated with caution, considering her traumas. When she took a step back, she offered him a soft smile and without adding anything else, she walked out of his office.</p><p>Again, people were staring at her, with some of them even whispering things to each other, not attempting to hide the fact they were talking about <em>her</em>. She silently walked to her office, packed all of her personal belongings in a small bag and then, again silently, walked out of the building, heading back to her apartment…</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“What did you just say?”</p><p>Gaby held her glass midair, letting Napoleon’s words settle for good before she shook her head. Illya, holding the collar on his neck, turned his whole body to look at the man that stood at the entrance of Gaby’s small kitchen. He seemed just as disheveled.</p><p>“She quit,” Napoleon repeated, entering the kitchen and taking a seat.</p><p>“She just quit?” Gaby wondered again, leaving her glass. “Waverly just let her go?”</p><p>“Apparently,” he replied, unbuttoning his jacket.</p><p>“Did he say if it was because of her fight with Illya?”</p><p>Two sets of eyes fell on the injured agent.</p><p>“He didn’t say,” Napoleon replied, shrugging. “He <em>implied</em> it, nonetheless he didn’t say it!”</p><p>“That’s just lovely,” Gaby sighed, picking up her glass and taking a large sip.</p><p>Again, both Napoleon and Gaby looked at Illya. Realizing the silence and shift in atmosphere, Illya raised his head and looked at them both. His hand continued holding the collar on his neck, but he looked genuinely surprised by their wondering looks.</p><p>“Why is it my fault?” he asked.</p><p>“Yes, Napoleon, <em>why</em> is it <em>his</em> fault?” Gaby sarcastically asked.</p><p>“Why did you have to fight with her anyway?” Napoleon wondered, sighing.</p><p>“She has no file!” Illya yelled, repeating himself for the thousandth time that day.</p><p>“What?” Napoleon gasped.</p><p>“Yes, apparently, the name Odette is fake,” Gaby replied, refilling her glass. “Super-Agent here discovered that and apparently Waverly confirmed it!”</p><p>“Are you serious?”</p><p>Illya nodded.</p><p>“How can this be? How did he let her join?”</p><p>Gaby scoffed again, taking a sip. “I would assume her real name is concealed for <em>some</em> reason. Didn’t she say she’s hiding from something in her past, anyway, love?” she asked, emptying her glass.</p><p>Napoleon stared at Illya. “She started it!” he insisted in an almost childish manner.</p><p>“She attacked you?” Napoleon wondered and Illya nodded.</p><p>“Why won’t you tell him why?” Gaby insisted, reaching for the now empty bottle.</p><p>Illya looked at her before he looked at Napoleon and sighed. He shook his head and remained silent.</p><p>“Well, I suppose if she started it,” Napoleon tried to say before Gaby made a point by forcefully throwing the empty bottle in the trash. They both looked at her. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset about <em>her</em>,” he suddenly noticed. “She <em>did</em> attack your <em>boyfriend</em>!” he noticed.</p><p>“And he attacked her <em>back</em>!” she insisted, slapping her hand on the table.</p><p>“Yes, but…”</p><p>“There’s no but!” she interrupted him. “Obviously, Waverly wouldn’t bring just anyone in the agency. Obviously, there’s a reason why she’s there. Obviously, Illya needs to apologize!”</p><p>“What?” Illya gasped, wincing in pain from the sudden movement.</p><p>“She’s probably going to move back to England. I mean I’m pretty sure she doesn’t enjoy packing everything she owns and moving to a different country, based on someone else’s whim…”      </p><p>“That’s not our decision to make!” Napoleon suddenly insisted.</p><p>“Even if it’s not our decision to make, he <em>needs</em> to apologize. She attacked him but not before he insinuated she was ‘winning’ because of Waverly!” Gaby insisted back.</p><p>“That’s what happened?” Napoleon wondered; Illya shifted in his seat.</p><p>Gaby scoffed again.</p><p>“Okay, even if it’s like that,” Napoleon began saying, standing up as well. “We can’t ignore some fundamental issues…”</p><p>“Oh, please, shove it up your ass,” Gaby replied, shaking her head.</p><p>“<em>Excuse me</em>?”</p><p>Gaby suddenly leaned forward over the table, approaching Napoleon’s face threateningly. “All you’ve done ever since she came here was say horrible things about her, even straight to her face. Did you think she wouldn’t find out? But you don’t care about her as a person; you care about not being the best anymore. You’ve bested me, but that’s not enough… You <em>need</em> to be the best or else something doesn’t sit quite well with your egos. Isn’t that right?”</p><p>Gaby’s words fell in the room like a bomb that deafened everyone. Napoleon and Illya looked at her, her sparkling eyes, stunned and dumbfounded.</p><p>“She doesn’t have a file…” Illya weakly tried to repeat.</p><p>“<em>I</em> didn’t have a file!” she suddenly yelled, again slamming her hand on the table. “I was MI6 and you had no idea! I <em>betrayed</em> you and left you for <em>dead</em> and yet you still came running to <em>my</em> rescue!”</p><p>Again, her words fell heavy in the room and everyone stayed silent. With a deep and heavy scoff, Gaby turned around and left the kitchen, heading for her room and forcefully shutting the door behind her. Illya closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, while Napoleon tried to wrap his head around what had happened.</p><p>“Wow,” he mumbled.</p><p>“I… I don’t know what to say,” Illya mumbled back.</p><p>“I just can’t believe this happened right now. Why did it have to happen <em>now</em>?”</p><p>“It would be worse if it happened later…”</p><p>“You… you don’t really think she’ll move back to England, do you?”</p><p>Illya paused, looking at Napoleon as if he had overlooked something important.</p><p>“Do you?” he insisted.</p><p>“I… I think so; yes,” he replied, looking down.</p><p>Napoleon sighed and stood up, running his hand through his hair. Suddenly, the TV from behind them made a new noise, as the program stopped and the news began. In the sudden silence of the room, the reporter’s voice sounded oddly clear, even from the other room.</p><p>
  <em>“We begin our news tonight, with a tragic story. New York’s own senator, Jeffrey Spears, was found dead in his Uptown apartment earlier today. After several hours of police investigations into the mysterious circumstances under which he passed, the police concluded his death was caused by natural causes and the official cause of death is cited as a fatal heart attack. The deceased’s family has pleaded his supporters and fellow congressional representatives not to dwell on the… unusual circumstances surrounding his death and let them mourn in peace. We now go to our own Elijah Jarrod, who made a reportage…”</em>
</p><p>Napoleon and Illya starred at each other.</p><p>“You… you don’t think it was her?” Napoleon mumbled, making a very subtle connection between her mysterious last-moment mission and the ‘sudden’ death of the senator.</p><p>“What sort of mysterious circumstances were there?” Illya wondered before both men left the kitchen and rushed to the living room.</p><p>The TV, still on, showed the picture of the man’s apartment, quickly cutting away from the bedroom, where the man was probably found. The reporter began citing various achievements of his, again purposely ignoring the fact he was married and the scene in his apartment showed clear signs of an extramarital affair. Napoleon sighed as the reporter continued talking and he took a seat on the couch.</p><p>“That’s just great,” he sighed, after the picture of a middle-aged man appeared on the screen.</p><p>“Do you think she…?” Illya asked, not daring to finish his thoughts.</p><p>“I saw scratches on her body,” Napoleon suddenly remembered. He closed his eyes and shook his head.</p><p>“That’s not good,” Illya noted, taking a seat next to his friend.</p><p>“Okay, let’s think clearly for a moment…” Napoleon said, desperately trying to sound meticulous and careful. “Let’s say that she did do all these things… Do we <em>really</em> need her in our team? I mean… She doesn’t have a file. She has nothing. And it’s obvious she’s a loose cannon. Thank God you were holding back–”</p><p>Something in Illya’s sudden silence, made Napoleon turn and look at his friend.</p><p>“You <em>did</em> hold back, didn’t you?” he slowly asked.</p><p>Illya sighed. “I meant to,” he said. His words made Napoleon sharply stand and look at him. “She realized I was holding back and fought back harder. That’s what she asked me to do–”</p><p>“And you just did it?”</p><p>“I… I was upset!”</p><p>“Illya…”</p><p>“I didn’t say I was proud!”</p><p>Napoleon sighed and heavily fell back on the couch.</p><p>“What are you thinking about?” Illya suddenly asked in a soft voice.</p><p>Napoleon ran his index finger on the base of his nose and sighed. “I’m thinking that I don’t know if we can trust her,” he replied, again with a sigh. “No matter what, however, Gaby is right on one thing…”</p><p>Another silence spread in the room as Illya turned his whole body to look at his friend, who looked at him back with his eyes full of regret…    </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- I wasn't sure it was clear, but Davies is Lydia's handler.<br/>- If you've reached so far, thank you so much for reading!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. An Apology</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Posting another chapter to make up for the lost time!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Illya heard the light shuffling movement from behind the door but remained silent. He stood still, patiently waiting, knowing that eventually Lydia would have to open the door. As the minutes passed and he continued hearing some shuffling, he cleared his throat and leaned towards the closed door.</p><p>“I just want to talk,” he said, in the calmest voice he could muster. After some more shuffling, Lydia audibly sighed and opened the door. “Hello,” he said.</p><p>It was honestly baffling to see Lydia as anything other than the girl he was used to seeing. Illya, however, had to stop himself from gasping at the ghastly sight of her as she opened the door. Sure enough, he had managed to hurt her as much as she had hurt him; however, her bruises weren’t the things that made her appearance so shocking. There was a look in Lydia’s face – it was a look of pure tiredness, a hollow glance, something that screamed she was just… done. Illya uncomfortably cleared his throat again and looked at her, trying to ignore the several empty boxes that were everywhere in the inside of the house.</p><p>“Did Waverly send you?” she suddenly asked, after spending a minute examining him as well.</p><p>Illya shook his head. “No, he did not,” he said.</p><p>“Then to what do I owe the pleasure?” she mused, although her voice was flat and humorless.</p><p>Illya cleared his throat again, softly shaking his head. “I… I came here to tell you something,” he began saying, avoiding looking her in the eyes. “I meant to… I <em>wanted</em> to apologize for yesterday,” he said. Her face changed, all of a sudden, and turned into a question mark. “I <em>really</em> wanted to apologize for my behavior last night. It… it was awful. And I’m sorry.”</p><p>Lydia, dumbfounded, stood still. “What?” she gasped.</p><p>“I came to apologize,” Illya repeated.</p><p>Without a warning, Lydia sharply turned around and disappeared in a room at the end of the hallway. Illya continued to stand awkwardly at the entrance, not knowing where she went, until suddenly she stormed out of the room and headed for him. It wasn’t until after she came too close that Illya noticed the semi-automatic pistol she was holding; he instinctively took a step back but she reached for his hand and placed the gun in his open palm with a completely blank expression.</p><p>“What is <em>that</em>?” he gasped, pointing at the gun.</p><p>“This is my smallest gun, the smallest I have in the house right now. If you’re here to ‘finish what we started’, then just take it, do it and get it over with…”</p><p>It was Illya’s turn to stand dumbfounded at the entrance of the door. He looked at the woman and noticed, with <em>horror</em>, that Lydia wasn’t joking – she instead felt oddly comfortable and even <em>ready</em> to have him do something truly awful to her. Before he had time to realize exactly what was happening and how serious it was, Illya swiftly unloaded the gun and kept the bullets in his pocket. He then reached for her hand and placed the gun back in her palm, with widened eyes.</p><p>“This is <em>not</em> why I’m here,” he said, feeling ridiculously obtuse for having to <em>explain</em> that.</p><p>“It… it isn’t?” she asked, honestly baffled.</p><p>“Obviously <em>not</em>!” he replied; his neck hurt him as he sharply moved, again feeling idiotic for having to explain that he didn’t mean to do anything of the sort.</p><p>“Are… are you sure?” she asked again.</p><p>“Am I sure if I’m not here to <em>kill</em> you?” he asked, again in a voice slightly higher than anticipated. “Do you really, <em>actually</em> expect me to kill you?” he asked, in a lower voice, realizing they were in a common area of a building with other occupants.</p><p>Lydia shrugged, in a ridiculously nonchalant manner. “I honestly don’t care anymore…”</p><p>Once again, Lydia’s sudden honesty caught Illya off guard. He paused, looking at her with horror and wonder, not understanding exactly how he felt about how all of a sudden she looked… <em>done</em>. He shook his head, trying to push that awful image out of his head and looked at her.</p><p>“As I said, I’m here to apologize,” he repeated himself, trying to contain his anger.</p><p>“Oh,” she said, almost as if finding the subject indifferent. “It’s all right, I suppose,” she added.</p><p>“So, you forgive me?” he asked, raising his one eyebrow.</p><p>Lydia shrugged. “Yes,” she said and sighed. “Is that all?” she suddenly asked, again looking in his eyes with a hauntingly hollow glance. “Can I get back to packing now?” she asked.</p><p>“Well,” Illya began saying. He awkwardly, yet again, stood in front of her, shaking his head. “Actually, Gaby, Napoleon and I have been talking,” he began saying. He felt himself regretting the words leaving his mouth, but continued regardless.</p><p>“All right,” she said.</p><p>“We came to a mutual agreement that… seeing you leave our agency… isn’t something we’d like to… see…” he concluded with a sigh.</p><p>“What?” she asked. “What is that supposed to mean?”</p><p>Illya sighed again. “It means we… we recognize your potential. And we understand that not everything can be explained in a simple way…” he added, shaking his head. “We understand that if mister Waverly wanted you to join us, he must’ve had his reasons. And we agree with him…”</p><p>Lydia, suddenly, humorlessly chuckled. “Are you telling me you want me to come back?” she scoffed.</p><p>Illya noticed her sour expression with melancholy. “That was the idea,” he replied.</p><p>“What brought all this change?” she asked back, following it with another scoff.</p><p>“I suppose we may have treated you unfairly,” Illya suddenly confessed. His words were a shock even to Lydia, whose eyes widened and she took a step back. “Perhaps our motivation behind our behavior has been somewhat selfish. We understand, however, that you are also… one of us. And if you’d like to come back, we wouldn’t object.”</p><p>Lydia looked at Illya and noticed the clear signs of pain in his face as he muttered those words. She realized, in the back of her slightly inebriated mind, that perhaps Illya meant those things, even if they appeared to kill him. She stood still, numb, trying to comprehend and grasp the basic meaning of his words, before she chuckled again. Her sudden outburst confused him, but she shook her head.</p><p>“Listen, mister Kuryachin,” she began saying. Suddenly, her head moved as if it weighted a lot and Illya realized she wasn’t entirely sober. He took a cautious step forward.</p><p>“You can call me Illya,” he said in a soft voice.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” she argued, shaking her head again. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve made up my mind – I’m going back to where I came from,” she said.</p><p>“But I’m telling you we <em>want</em> to work with you!”</p><p>“You’re telling me you feel guilty for making me quit. But I didn’t do it for you. I did it for myself. This isn’t an environment in which I want to continue being.”</p><p>“That’s understandable. As I said, however, I apologize. And we’ll make sure to create a… nicer environment for you,” Illya replied.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Her question rang exasperation and suddenly Illya realized he didn’t have a good answer. The principal motivation behind all of this had been his and Napoleon’s guilty feelings. They had agreed Illya should apologize for purposely antagonizing her; they didn’t know much about her but they had understood beforehand that she was also a person with poor self-control and a bit of a temper. They had agreed that had they intended to do it right, they would’ve come up with a better way to get some answers about her upbringing, what made her having to conceal all her real personal information.</p><p>However, somewhere along the lines of talking about things, they had agreed that they actually <em>wanted</em> her to work with them. After Gaby had woken up and had lethargically slithered back into the living room, they had accepted the fact that she had been right. And if they were being honest with themselves, which of course rarely ever happened, they were indeed purposely antagonizing towards Lydia because of her capabilities. That shouldn’t stop her from getting to experience U.N.C.L.E. however; should it?</p><p>“I… We…” Illya mumbled.</p><p>Lydia shook her head and reached for the door. “Goodbye, mister Kuryachin,” she said.</p><p>“You don’t have to leave because of us!” Illya suddenly said, stopping the door with his hand. Lydia paused and raised her eyebrows.</p><p>“What?” she asked again.</p><p>“You don’t have to leave everything you’ve done so far simply because we were… jerks,” Illya replied, sighing. “It’s clear you’ve invested a lot into this. We’re not in a position to push you away from it.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s so sentimental,” she mused, sarcastically.</p><p>“It’s not something I’d agree with voluntarily,” he nodded. “You deserve to be there as much as anyone, however. If anything… <em>you</em> of all people should be there with us…”</p><p>Lydia raised her eyebrows again. “I don’t understand,” she confessed.</p><p>Illya sighed. “There was a reason you were picked. We understand that now; we accept it. We accept the fact it’s not our job to determine whether you get to do what you want. That’s why I’m here apologizing. We want you to come back; officially.”</p><p>“You <em>really</em> do?” Lydia asked in clear disbelief and obvious caution.</p><p>“We do.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because you deserve to.”</p><p>Again, Lydia was dumbfounded.</p><p>“But, we do need to know a few things about you,” Illya suddenly said, breaking the silence.</p><p>“What?” she scoffed.</p><p>“We <em>do</em> need to know about you – we <em>need</em> to trust you. What we do requires a lot of trust. And we need to be able to trust you <em>too</em>.”</p><p>Lydia paused and took a deep breath.</p><p>“Do you need to think about it?” he asked, looking at her.</p><p>Again, Lydia took a deep breath. “I…” she began saying before she paused. “I suppose it’s not the craziest idea,” she suddenly, reluctantly said.</p><p>Involuntarily, Illya raised a soft smile…</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- If you've reached so far, thank you so very much for reading!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. A Brief History</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Again, I'm terribly sorry for disappearing. A lot of things have been going on, but anyway, here's another chapter. Thank you for reading!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You know, you don’t have to do that <em>now</em>,” Gaby said.</p><p>“Let’s just do it and get it over with,” Lydia replied.</p><p>“That’s the spirit,” Napoleon mused.</p><p>Lydia and Illya glared at the man – he made a dramatic gesture with his hand and sat back on his chair, reaching for his wineglass. Gaby shook her head.</p><p>“Whenever you’re ready,” she softly urged Lydia.</p><p>Lydia took a moment to examine the other agents’ faces. She felt ridiculous and perhaps a little small for having to explain any part of her real life story to anyone. She had never extensively thought about it, not until a while ago, when Illya silently drove her to Gaby’s apartment, where apparently everyone else was. She had spent the entire car ride thinking, realizing that her story wasn’t a secret – even though certain parts of it <em>should</em> be. However, on the other hand, sharing bits of it with Gaby had been an entertaining achievement of hers, something that had satisfied her. Perhaps, sharing with them who she was wasn’t such a bad idea.</p><p>She still would have to make some cuts, though.</p><p>She took a deep breath as she uncomfortably sat on her chair and ran her hands on her thighs.</p><p>“My name… my <em>real</em> name, is Lydia Exarchopoulos,” she began saying.</p><p>Everyone paused and looked at her.</p><p>“I was born on May 10, 1934, in Patras, Greece. Yes, I <em>am</em> from Greece,” she said, noticing the shocked expression on her faces.</p><p>»My father was a military Colonel – he had served in the army during the First World War, but died when I was four years old. My mother, the last remaining heir of a vastly wealthy family, remarried immediately after, to a Major General who was, by all means, a far-right Nazi. After their wedding, they decided to send me away – at least they told me it was a common decision – to a military camp.</p><p>»I was sent there for eight years, until a little after the Second World War was over and the Greek civil war began. In the camp, they taught me everything I know now. They trained me in physical combat, taught me several languages to perfection, explained to me the basic usage of most guns and other important war machinery, and taught me several other necessary skills for someone who would follow a… career like mine. After 1947, <em>because</em> of the civil war, the camp had to be admonished and I had to return… <em>home</em>…</p><p>»After I was back… home… I was not… particularly well. In the eight years of my absence, my mother had become a raging alcoholic with a knack for sleeping pills and my stepfather had continued being an uncontrollable Nazi. Then… about a year after that, a… <em>brother</em>, I didn’t know I had, my stepfather’s son from his first marriage, came to live with us. He had also served in the military, as a Private. He was discharged, recovering from an accident. He… wasn’t a Nazi; if anything he was what my stepfather liked to call a ‘fucking pinko’ and, naturally, was involved in many progressive, provocative notions. He taught me all of them…</p><p>»When I turned seventeen, I ran away from home. I travelled to England and took a job as a… let’s say bodyguard, for a rich man. A few months after that, I realized he was actually not a good man and I began working with the police to find enough evidence to put him away. After all that was done, I went into the witness protection program for a few years, until I turned twenty. Then, MI5 began looking for me and seeking my help with various operations, considering my… military upbringing.</p><p>»By that point I… I was <em>broke</em>. So I agreed. The reason why I don’t have a file or any other sort of identification is because of the deal I made with the agency. It was their silence for my silence. I wasn’t added in their files or records, nobody knew who I was or where I was living and I had a somewhat immunity when it came to my papers and criminal records. In exchange, I dealt with some… difficult cases; anything with which the organization didn’t want to be associated.</p><p>»A few months ago, in June to be precise, while on a trip in London, Commander Waverly and I met. I was his assigned guardian and it was a simple extraction. We purposely fell in a trap and apparently, he was impressed with my abilities, so he offered me to come work for U.N.C.L.E. as opposed to MI5. In exchange for my transition and in order to avoid certain… mishaps with my fellow coworkers, he offered to help me acquire a false identity, a driver’s license, a passport; things like that, so that I could join his agency and begin working officially. And, basically, this is all there is to it…</p><p>Lydia stopped talking and suddenly, Gaby’s small kitchen was immersed in a deep silence. The other three agents looked at each other, trying to comprehend the actual meaning of Lydia’s words. They felt there were other parts of the story she hadn’t shared and they collectively began wondering if that was done so for efficiency or because of other reasons. Gaby looked at Napoleon, who looked at her back, not knowing what to add.</p><p>“Is that all?” Illya suddenly asked, breaking the silence.</p><p>“Yes, I suppose,” Lydia replied, not looking at any of them.</p><p>“All right,” he said.</p><p>The three other people in the kitchen looked up and looked at him for confirmation. He had indeed said that it was all right, believing Lydia’s words and her story and for some reason accepting it. Napoleon and Gaby raised their eyebrows in wonder while Lydia shook her head.</p><p>“That’s it?” she asked with clear disbelief.</p><p>“I don’t see why not,” he replied in a casual manner.</p><p>“So now, all of a sudden, you <em>trust</em> me?”</p><p>Her question felt raw, but Illya looked at her. “I don’t trust you; I don’t think I can trust you – <em>yet</em>,” he said. “But now we know where you come from. Now we know as much about you as you know about us.”</p><p>Lydia shook her head. “You make it sound as if you’ll start looking for proof of what I said,” she said.</p><p>Illya slowly raised his shoulders in a soft, non-committal shrug.</p><p>“You won’t find anything,” Lydia stated.</p><p>Her eyes were clear and seemed honest, but Illya realized that behind her straightforward manner hid a bluff she couldn’t conceal. He raised his one eyebrow as he looked at her and left his glass on the table in front of him.</p><p>“Does that mean you destroyed it?” he asked.</p><p>Lydia slowly raised her shoulders, mimicking his shrug.</p><p>Another brief silence fell in the room.</p><p>“That’s almost amusing,” Napoleon suddenly noticed, trying to end the awkwardness and reaching for his drink, emptying a good portion of it. Everyone looked at him. “I had imagined she was American,” he suddenly said, realizing his plan had worked.</p><p>“What?” Lydia wondered.</p><p>“How… <em>why</em> would you think that?” Gaby wondered as well, shaking her head.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Napoleon began saying, shrugging. “Her accent isn’t British; it’s really neutral and a bit American-like. She’s good with guns, she reads liberal novels… it was a fair assumption,” he said.</p><p>“You really thought this person was American?” Gaby wondered again, pointing at Lydia.</p><p>Napoleon shrugged.</p><p>“If anything, she looked Russian,” Illya suddenly intervened, looking at Lydia. “Her looks, her fighting, her skills… She speaks the language excellently too,” he added. Lydia wasn’t sure but she sensed a small hint of pride in his voice as he said those words.</p><p>“Why would you think that?” Gaby interrupted him, reaching for the bottle of wine and refilling her glass. “Was it because she was a ‘match’ for you?” she mused sarcastically.</p><p>“Can you blame me?” he asked in an innocently naïve manner.</p><p>Gaby rolled her eyes, emptying her glass.</p><p>“Not that it’s any of my business, but exactly how much have you had to drink, Gaby?” Napoleon suddenly asked.</p><p>It wasn’t a particularly bad question, however Gaby angrily sighed and without a warning reached for the empty bottle of wine and threw it at Napoleon’s direction. The agent had only a brief second to dodge it; it hit the wall behind him and broke immediately after.</p><p>“Goodnight!” Gaby angrily announced, making another dramatic gesture and disappearing into her room. It was obvious that was her way of ending whatever it was they were about to do. Illya sighed.</p><p>“I think she wants us to leave,” Napoleon said, mimicking a sarcastic voice after Gaby forcefully closed the door again.</p><p>“Yes,” Lydia replied. She slowly stood up from her chair, but before she turned around to leave she looked at the other agents. They realized she was looking at them and quietly looked at her back. “Does… does that mean we’re working together now?” she slowly asked.</p><p>Napoleon and Illya looked at each other before looking at her. “Yes,” Illya replied.</p><p>“So, now we’re partners?” she asked again.</p><p>“Yes,” Napoleon offered.</p><p>“In that case, I have some… demands,” she said.</p><p>Again, Lydia’s head moved with uncertainty. Even though she hadn’t had anything to drink in Gaby’s house, both Illya and Napoleon realized she had taken something that had rendered her slightly slower than what she would usually be. Napoleon took a cautious step forward and looked at her.</p><p>“What is it?” he asked.</p><p>“I…” she began saying before she ran her hand through her hair. “I need to know…” she said and blinking uncertainly. “I need to know that I’m your <em>equal</em>. I don’t really care to enter your group and be your <em>friend</em>,” she rushed to add, sluggishly shaking her head. “But I need to know that I’m not another random agent. This… this idea you’ve planted, has created some unnecessary rumors in the office. And I don’t like it,” she said.</p><p>Again, the other agents looked at each other. There was no doubt, about which thing Lydia was talking. It had been clear after her accident in the gymnasium. It had been then; that both of them had realized that perhaps they had gone too far, when Jackson began badmouthing Lydia to whoever would listen. Napoleon had concluded his bitterness was generated by her rejection of him. However, when the man began seeking his support, considering he had been in the common area when the incident had occurred, and when he began asking Illya to join him in bashing her in whatever way they could, they had both understood…</p><p>The entire office had had a bad idea of her, generated mostly because of their inability to treat her as one of their own. Lydia hadn’t helped much with her desire to be left alone, however nothing had started because of her inability to socialize. The agents awkwardly shifted in the room and Lydia realized they had understood what she was pointing out.</p><p>“We’re sorry about that,” Illya said in a slow voice, signaling to Napoleon his charm should take over to smooth things. Napoleon complied by raising a charming smile and taking another cautious step towards her.</p><p>“We really are,” he offered, intently looking at her. “You’d think these people would be more professional, yet they act as if we’re in a soap opera,” he mused. Lydia’s uninterested look spoke volumes. He paused, feeling the awkwardness of her silence and shook his head. “Why don’t I drive you home?” he suddenly offered, again with a smile, before he reached for his jacket.</p><p>“Fine, I suppose,” she offered back, sluggishly shrugging.</p><p>“Illya?”</p><p>Napoleon’s call for his friend caused Lydia to stall and look at the man. She had forgotten, for some reason, he didn’t live there. However, it wasn’t until the moment Napoleon asked him to join them that Lydia made the connection between the two, remembering all of a sudden that Gaby had disappeared in her room and was probably asleep. She looked at the man with raised eyebrows.</p><p>“I should clean up,” Illya suddenly noticed, pointing at the broken glass that was left everywhere on the floor. Lydia looked around.</p><p>“Gaby will have forgotten about it in the morning,” Napoleon noticed.</p><p>Suddenly, something in the delivery of their words felt… <em>odd</em>.</p><p>“We’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Napoleon offered again. Without a warning, his hand reached for Lydia’s waist and slowly ushered her outside the kitchen. The movement was soft and could be considered unimportant, however again something felt odd. Lydia had only a brief second to look behind and see Illya reaching for a broom, before Napoleon literally pushed her out of the apartment. She looked at him with raised eyebrows, realizing he had understood she wasn’t at the best headspace to owe her an explanation.</p><p>Neither of them commented on anything.</p><p>They silently walked out of the apartment and down the stairs, again silently reaching for Napoleon’s car. Lydia struggled to enter, feeling her pain spreading again, but Napoleon patiently waited for her, holding the door open. As soon as she entered, he followed her inside and began driving away…</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>There was a new kind of silence spreading in the small space of the car. Napoleon tried to steal glances at the hurt Lydia several times, opening his mouth to speak but closing it before he could voice anything. It wasn’t until a while later that Lydia sighed and rolled her eyes.</p><p>“If you have something to say, <em>just</em> say it,” she said in a flat voice. </p><p>Napoleon paused again. “I just… I have <em>many</em> questions,” he offered, softly shrugging.</p><p>“Is that so?” Lydia’s voice was tainted with sarcasm. He looked at her.</p><p>“Don’t you have any questions about <em>me</em>?” he wondered.</p><p>She shrugged. “I believe I have <em>you</em>, of all people, figured out,” she suddenly offered.</p><p>“Is that so?” he mused back, semi-offended.</p><p>She smiled. “You’re a very social person. It’s easy to see you’ve endured pain you’re trying to mask off with casualness and jokes,” she offered, looking out the window.</p><p>Napoleon looked at her.</p><p>“Am I wrong?” she smiled.</p><p>“No, I suppose not,” he replied, feeling his cheeks and neck burning.</p><p>Another brief silence fell between them. Lydia, realizing she had touched a sensitive subject, sighed softly and shook her head.</p><p>“Just ask,” she encouraged him, avoiding looking at him.</p><p>They stopped at a red light and Napoleon instinctively tightened his grip around the stirring wheel. He finally looked at her, seeing her slowly leaning against the seat as if about to melt. He shook his head.</p><p>“All right,” he said. “What were they training you for?”</p><p>Lydia finally looked at him back and offered him a tired smile. She had found herself wondering the same question several times and yet she still had no idea. She softly raised her shoulders and shook her head.</p><p>“I don’t know,” she offered. He raised an eyebrow. “I <em>really</em> don’t,” she reassured him. “I think they believed the war would last longer than it did. I think they were hoping to have something to show for it. I mean, it’s a small country, we were occupied by the Germans <em>and</em> the Italians, there was penury, starvation; terrible conditions… Maybe it was a national issue – maybe they wanted to feel… part of the great forces.”</p><p>She seemed honest, although just as baffled as him. The light turned green, however, Napoleon needed to hear the horn of another car behind him to notice it and begin driving again. He looked straight ahead, trying to come up with his next question.</p><p>“All right,” he said again. “Are you a Nazi?”</p><p>Again, his question was raw but it, somehow, made sense. It had been a point purposely ignored by everyone, even though Lydia had offered her part of the truth, especially about her family. She leaned her head back and sighed, making Napoleon look at her again in wonder. She shook her head.</p><p>“No,” she said.</p><p>“How can I believe that?” he asked.</p><p>She shrugged. “You don’t have to,” she offered. “I’m just… not,” she said. “I was raised to believe in their causes – I won’t deny that. But then again, how can you blame a four year old for not knowing any better?”</p><p>He looked at her. “The camp was…?”</p><p>“<em>Everything</em> in the Greek army is a ‘bit’ right,” she suddenly offered. He raised his eyebrows. “It’s just what it is,” she replied with a soft scoff. “The civil war was between those who wanted Churchill and those who wanted the Russians. It tore families apart. But the right won. Again, it’s what it is…”</p><p>“And how come you’re different, then?”</p><p>Lydia’s eyelashes suddenly fluttered; he noticed.</p><p>“Well?” he insisted.</p><p>“It was the brother,” she suddenly replied in a sharp way. He had to look at her again.</p><p>“What did he do?” he asked, in a softer voice.</p><p>She shrugged. “He… wasn’t like that,” she offered. “He was the one that told me what my step-father had actually done. He… showed me a new way of thinking, I suppose…”</p><p>He paused. “That’s nice,” he offered.</p><p>She looked at him. “Yes.”</p><p>Again, the car was filled with their silence. From the corner, Lydia noticed a familiar street and realized they were getting closer. She looked at Napoleon, again leaning on the seat with tiredness. He felt the intensity of her glance and looked at her.</p><p>“What?” he asked.</p><p>“Is that all?” she asked back.</p><p>He shook his head. “I… I have <em>many</em> more.”</p><p>“Can they wait?”</p><p>Napoleon paused. “How about a last one?” he offered.</p><p>Lydia, suddenly, smiled. “All right,” she said.</p><p>“Why did you run away?”</p><p>There was no hesitation in his voice as he spoke, even though her sudden stiffness made him believe there should be. She paused for a few minutes before she finally looked at him. Napoleon, again stopped at a red light, looked at her, realizing her intensity. He suddenly concluded she was trying to figure out if she could <em>trust</em> him.</p><p>“Do… do you want the honest answer or the appropriate answer?” she suddenly asked.</p><p>“I want the truth,” he replied. She sighed.</p><p>“I… I <em>had</em> to leave,” she said. “There was no room for someone like me in that… <em>house</em>,” she offered. She paused again, biting her lip.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“I…” she paused. She took a deep breath. “I used my training to… <em>kill</em> my step-father.”</p><p>Again, Napoleon had to wait for a horn to unfreeze from his position. “What?” he gasped.</p><p>Lydia ran both her hands through her hair and shook her head; she seemed upset. “I <em>had</em> to,” she offered.</p><p>“So just because of that you had to leave the country and never return for… what, <em>fifteen</em> years?” he asked, in clear disbelief. She sighed again.</p><p>“I… I wasn’t kind,” she said.</p><p>“<em>What did you do?</em>”</p><p>This time, they had reached her apartment building. Napoleon silently parked and turned his body to look at her, waiting. She unbuckled her seatbelt and shook her head, again seemingly trying to understand if she could trust him.</p><p>“I used my training to gut him; then, I used his own intestines to hang him from the tree of our front yard and I used his blood to write on the walls.”</p><p>Again, the car fell into a deep silence. Only this time, Napoleon was <em>stunned</em>. He looked at her with horror, feeling every hair on his body standing. He noticed many things going through her head, her expression changing from panic to remorse and then pain. However, she refused to look at him.</p><p>“Why?” he finally gasped.</p><p>“I did nothing more than what he deserved,” she said. She suddenly turned to look at him; her clear eyes, gleaming with tears, disarmed him.</p><p>“Don’t you think that was a bit excessive?” he asked, still feeling his blood cold.</p><p>She sighed. “I thought of many ways; I thought of shooting him in his sleep or putting arsenic in his food. Yet, somehow, everything seemed… mild, for his case,” she said, again looking away.</p><p>“I…” he began saying but stopped.</p><p>“Yeah,” she replied.</p><p>Napoleon, still in shock, reached for the inside of his jacket and retrieved a small flask. He opened it and took a good sip of the drink before offering it to her. She looked at it for a moment before she held it up and chuckled in a humorless way.</p><p>“Can you believe I’ve been sober for three years?” she mused, before she brought the flask to her lips and took a large sip. She stopped drinking and looked at him, realizing his face had turned into shock yet again. “Oh don’t look at me like that,” she sighed, offering him the flask. “I’m not an alcoholic. I just… stopped drinking altogether,” she offered, running her hand through her hair. “Thank you for the ride,” she sharply offered and opened the door, leaving the car. Napoleon watched her leaving before he cursed behind his teeth and followed her outside.</p><p>“Wait a minute,” he asked, making her turn to face him.</p><p>“I don’t need that,” she suddenly said. “I don’t need to <em>know</em> you’re judging me!”</p><p>“What?” he gasped.</p><p>“I’ve done many things wrong in my life. I <em>accept</em> that; I understand that. But I’m having enough trouble dealing with them on my own, I don’t need to know another person is thinking the worst of me,” she said. Her eyes were again filled with tears, only this time some rolled down her cheeks. He paused.</p><p>“I’m not judging you,” he softly offered.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I… I’m <em>not</em> judging you,” he repeated. The noise of the city around them drowned their silence as he reached for his pocket again and removed a handkerchief. He handed it to her. She took it with a sigh, softly wiping away the tears from her swollen cheeks.</p><p>“I know what I did was awful,” she said. “As I said, I’m not proud of it.”</p><p>“Do you ever think about it?” he asked, taking a step closer to her.</p><p>She shrugged. “There’s a reason why I need sleeping pills,” she offered, refusing to look up.</p><p>Napoleon, suddenly, felt the urge to hug her – her sudden change in tone made her appear vulnerable to his eyes for the very first time, an image that didn’t suit her at all. He’d be lying, however, if he didn’t admit that there was a new version of Lydia suddenly appearing in front of him, one that perhaps explained her desperate desire to be <em>left alone</em>. He took another step towards her and softly squeezed her shoulder in an encouraging manner. She looked at him.</p><p>“I’m really sorry you had to do that,” he suddenly said.</p><p>“You are?” she asked, in disbelief.</p><p>He nodded. “I assume it wasn’t easy for you…”</p><p>She paused.</p><p>“Are you going to be okay?” he suddenly asked, pointing at the building. Lydia, again humorlessly chuckling, wiped her tears and offered him the handkerchief.</p><p>“I’m going to be all right,” she said.</p><p>Something in her voice made her not credible.</p><p>“Good night, mister Solo,” she suddenly said, in a soft voice. She also reached for his shoulder, although reluctantly, and gave it a soft squeeze.</p><p>Napoleon smiled in a soft manner and nodded. “Good night… miss <em>Odette</em>,” he said.</p><p>They looked at each other, in the eyes, and each offered the other a tired smile. Without saying anything else and with the night wearing heavy on her shoulders, Lydia nodded and turned around. She slowly climbed the front steps of the building and entered, disappearing from his sight and leaving him alone.</p><p>For the first time in a while, Napoleon remained silent, looking at nothing, trying to figure out, <em>really</em> understand, what he felt about what had just happened to him…   </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- World War I: 1914-1018<br/>- World War II: 1939-1945<br/>- Greek Civil War: 1946-1949<br/>- Pinko: a pejorative term to describe a person regarded as being sympathetic to communism, though not necessarily a Communist Party member. A term used to describe anyone perceived to have leftist or socialist sympathies.<br/>- We're now slowly diving into the backstory of Lydia and we're about to see some bonding, which quite frankly makes me so happy!!!<br/>- If you've read so far, thank you, honstly!!!, so much!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Family Affairs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>life is currently being a major b**ch, which is why I haven't posted in a while. I hope you enjoy this chapter though!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>March 13<sup>th</sup>, 1948.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The sun slowly dived in the horizon, hiding behind the line that separated the sky with the sea. It left the sky painted in beautiful purple shades that resembled a Renaissance painting. It was late in the afternoon and the sun subtly reminded everyone it was ready to let that Saturday go and welcome a new Sunday.</p><p>Lydia sat at the headrest of her bed and stared at the sky ahead. She never stopped being amazed at the sunset colors that were never the same but were always beautiful. She leaned against the frame of the window and tried to soak as much of the light as possible. It had become her favorite activity, in that last year since her return, to find solace by herself in the late afternoon. The neoclassical home was bathed in silence – she liked that. She liked the quiet when the house rested; quiet was nice – it was <em>safe</em>.</p><p>As she leaned on her hands, trying to memorize the colors of the sky to make sure they would show up in her dreams, something from the street below caught her attention. A single man stood out from around everyone else that slowly, almost lethargically got ready to go home. The man, tall and completely dressed in dark green clothes, slowly but steadily walked towards the house, with a patience that seemed bizarrely intriguing. For some reason, Lydia found it hard not to stare at him, not notice his slow movements and light swaying. She realized, soon enough, his odd temperament came from a very noticeable limp that not only made him move slowly but also, for some reason, made him appear certain about whatever it was he was about to do.</p><p>As Lydia leaned forward, trying to understand whether the man walked towards the house or towards the house’s general direction, suddenly the man looked up. He seemed to take a moment to himself to admire the lavish, for its time, home; impressed by what he saw he continued looking up, when all of a sudden he spotted her. Lydia softly tilted her head and the man mimicked her move, also trying to examine her and understand what was happening. A few minutes of silent observation later, he took a deep breath and continued walking, leaving Lydia’s sight. Suddenly, the doorbell rang.</p><p>Making as little noise as possible, Lydia opened her bedroom door and tiptoed to the stairs, hiding behind the bars that overlooked the hallway. She barely had time to listen to one of the women that helped around the house say something, before the man spoke.</p><p>“I’m Marcus Exarchopoulos,” he said; he had a pleasant, deep voice. “I’m here to see Cleandros Exarchopoulos,” he added.</p><p>“Of course; please excuse me for a moment.”</p><p>Elena, the one of the three house cleaners, took the heavy coat the man offered her and disappeared behind the kitchen’s door. Lydia knew the kitchen shared a door with her stepfather’s study and assumed Elena didn’t mean to knock on his door right in front of the strange man. Now, in that odd silence that fell in the house, Lydia impatiently leaned forward and tried to examine the man.</p><p>He was tall, as she had noticed, and relatively lean. His clothes weren’t simple dark green clothes – he was dressed in a military uniform, slightly worn out but neat nonetheless. The man had short dark hair and again, his limp was the first thing Lydia couldn’t help but notice. As he stood in the hallway and slowly looked around, again marveling at the lavish interior of the house, Lydia leaned forward and made a very soft cracking sound.</p><p>Marcus paused; he had heard the sound. Instead of sharply turning towards it, however, he smiled to himself and then, ostensibly by accident, turned to see the source of the creak. Lydia’s frightened face appeared from behind the bars, half-hidden behind the wall. He silently observed her, yet again, not daring to speak, but offering her a heartbreaking smile. Lydia felt her head spinning. The man’s impossibly blue eyes pierced through her and she knew that had she not been scared of her stepfather’s overreaction to her eavesdropping, she would’ve gasped.</p><p>Suddenly, the door behind the man opened. Cleandros, Lydia’s stepfather, a man well into his fifties with short salt-and-pepper hair and a large belly, walked out of the room. He was dressed as he always was at that hour, with a short silk robe covering his cotton shirt and tie. His pocket watch swung as he hastily left the room and suddenly halted. It was obvious the image of Marcus was an unexpected one, to say the least.</p><p>“Marcus…” Cleandros gasped, trying to find his strength. All color was drained from his face.</p><p>“Hello father,” Marcus replied with a smile.</p><p>Again, Lydia had to <em>stop</em> herself from gasping. Suddenly, the image of a boy came to her, with a certainty that confused her. She remembered why the man looked so oddly familiar, in a very broad sense; a young boy with impossibly blue eyes appeared in her vision, that fateful day her mother had dragged her along in a church, wishing to marry Cleandros. Lydia was four then and the boy should’ve been nine of ten years old. Lydia remembered, again with a shocking certainty, how she had thought the boy looked just as confused and scared as she was feeling, dressed in ridiculous white clothes that supposedly celebrated the union between their parents.</p><p>However, this time, things were different. The boy had grown into a man and he seemed sarcastic and perhaps a bit arrogant as he stood in front of his father with a smile that looked out of place. She slowly concluded his absence was justified by him being in the army, while Cleandros tried to regain the control of the conversation.</p><p>“What… what are you doing here?” he breathlessly said, settling in front of his son.</p><p>“I was discharged,” Marcus announced, again with an arrogance that seemed out of place.</p><p>“That’s impossible!” Cleandros protested.</p><p>“I had a serious accident on my leg, father. I’m useless to them now…”</p><p>Cleandros stood silent, observing his son that slowly lifted his trousers’ hem and showed him his wound, probably. He bit his lip and shook his head, trying to appear calm.</p><p>“Where did you find the address?” he asked in a shaky voice.</p><p>“Our old neighbor gave it to me,” Marcus replied. “I had almost forgotten about this house. I have to admit, I grew worried when I remembered you hadn’t written to me to tell me where you moved,” he added, beginning to make a circle around the older man.</p><p>“It was all very sudden,” Cleandros began mumbling.</p><p>“Of course, you <em>never</em> really wrote me,” Marcus concluded.</p><p>“As I said,” Cleandros began saying, settling in front of his son with a stern expression, “it all happened very suddenly,” he repeated. “I didn’t want to interrupt you and worry you for no reason,” he added. It was obvious this was all a lie.</p><p>“<em>Right</em>,” Marcus mused, crossing his arms on his chest. “Well it’s all right; I’m here <em>now</em>.”</p><p>“Are…” Cleandros paused, visibly upset. “Are you planning to <em>stay</em>?” he gasped.</p><p>“I told you, father, I’m very sick,” Marcus replied. “I can’t take care of myself!”</p><p>“I see…” Cleandros replied, still upset. “Well, I suppose we can have you around for a while,” he said, trying to sound careless. “Daphne and I will… we will be <em>happy</em> to have you.”</p><p>“Thank you, father.”</p><p>It was obvious, for some inexplicable reason, that Marcus’ presence in the house bode something terrible. Cleandros, a man that usually appeared strict and always in control, suddenly appeared shocked and at a loss of words. He shook his head, yet again, mumbling a profanity under his mouth, before he turned around and yelled for Elena. She showed up in a split second and looked at her boss with obedience.</p><p>“Elena, show Marcus to the guest room,” he said. “And bring him some water to clean up.”</p><p>“Right away sir,” Elena obediently replied and took a small bow.</p><p>Again, Lydia had only a few seconds to quietly move back and disappear in her bedroom without making any noise. She softly closed her door and kneeled behind the keyhole, trying to observe as much as she could, not understanding why her curiosity had suddenly taken the best of her. Elena and Marcus silently walked up the stairs and then headed for the second flight, where Elena pointed at the small door of the only available room. Marcus offered her a charming smile, something that from afar seemed honest but perhaps forced, and then waited until after she had disappeared downstairs.</p><p>By himself, Marcus removed his heavy bag from him shoulder and entered the room, but not before, he sent an examining glance around the house…</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>As predicted, the family dinner that night was interrupted by Marcus’ presence. It had never been an issue of silence, really, as the family dinners were always quiet. However, that night, the silence wasn’t simply that – it was awkward.</p><p>At the head of the table sat Cleandros – he didn’t look at a loss of words anymore; his mood had shifted into anger and bitterness, his usual look. Next to him, on his right, sat Daphne, Lydia’s mother, who silently drank her wine, observing the space around her but without really paying any attention to anything in particular. Opposite her, on Cleandros’ left, sat Marcus.</p><p>Lydia, sitting on the other head of the table for convenience, tried to observe both Marcus and Cleandros. It was clear her stepfather’s foul mood had taken the best of him, however Marcus continued to look… intriguing. Trying to look as inconspicuously as possible, she noticed that he was also different. He wasn’t as sarcastic and arrogant as she had thought he was earlier that afternoon. Instead, at that moment, he looked like a fish out of water, also trying to observe everyone around him in silence and make the best of what was about to happen. When their eyes accidentally met, Lydia silently looked down, feeling her cheeks burning.</p><p>“Well, isn’t this nice?” Marcus suddenly said, breaking the silence.</p><p>“Who is that, father?” Hercules suddenly asked.</p><p>Again, Cleandros seemed to use a superhuman amount of strength to contain his anger. He closed his eyes as he looked at his youngest son and raised a polite smile that Lydia knew wasn’t sincere.</p><p>“That’s Marcus, Hercules; he’s… he’s your older <em>brother</em>!” Cleandros replied, trying to sound diplomatic, although his voice was dripping vitriol.</p><p>“Why is he so big?” Hercules persisted with naivety.</p><p>“That’s because I was born many years before you,” Marcus suddenly intervened. Cleandros’ glare spoke volumes.</p><p>“And where were you?” Hercules asked again.</p><p>“I was in the army,” Marcus replied with a smile.</p><p>“Yeah…” Cleandros mumbled.</p><p>“And what’s your name?” Marcus asked, looking at the young boy.</p><p>“I’m Hercules,” the boy said.</p><p>“Say, father, that’s a nice activity,” Marcus said; something in his voice had changed; Lydia reluctantly looked up and noticed his previous arrogance had returned.</p><p>“What?” Cleandros mumbled.</p><p>“Why don’t you introduce me to all these little people?” Marcus mused. “Last time I was here, <em>none</em> of them existed…”</p><p>Cleandros tightened the grip around his fork, again trying to appear civil and polite. He looked at his oldest son with clear disappointment and then shook his head, pointing ahead.</p><p>“The boy next to Daphne is Hercules, as you already heard,” he began saying. “Next to him is Menander. Next to you is Christopher and next to him is Nicholas,” he said. His tone hinted he found the activity to be more of a chore, but when the boys smiled and waved at Marcus, his expression changed into anger. The four boys quietly sat back on their seats and began eating their food again.</p><p>Another silence fell in the room.</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you all,” Marcus said, sensing the tension intensifying. “But father, I think you forgot one,” he added.</p><p>“No; I didn’t,” Cleandros insisted, without looking up. His temper had begun growing.</p><p>“But you <em>did</em>; you didn’t tell me who <em>that</em> is!” Marcus insisted back.</p><p>By the sudden silence that yet again fell in the room, Lydia realized they were probably talking about <em>her</em>. Realizing the interest had fallen on her she reluctantly raised her glance and looked up. She saw Cleandros looking at her, with a face that slowly turned red, and Marcus, offering her a charming smile.</p><p>Again, his eyes seemed impossibly blue; however, that time she was given permission to look at him.</p><p>She tried to observe him and take in his characteristics that would otherwise be considered extremely handsome. Lydia realized, in a somewhat shock, that Marcus’ face held some of Cleandros’ features, like the long nose and the cleft chin, however something about him made him look… different.</p><p>“That’s my daughter, Lydia,” Daphne suddenly said. Her voice broke the temporary silence and made Marcus look away. Freed from his glance, Lydia looked at her plate again.</p><p>“Is that so?” Marcus asked; his voice was full of interest.</p><p>“Yes,” Daphne replied. “I believe you must’ve met her a couple of times before… Anyway, she just came back from boarding school,” she added, rehearsing their lie for the millionth time.</p><p>“That’s nice,” Marcus replied.</p><p>This time, Lydia refused to take her eyes off her plate. She refused to make any sudden movements that would attract any kind of attention on her. She silently sat on her chair and continued eating. However, something wasn’t right. She could almost feel someone staring at her, perhaps with the same curiosity she had shown a few minutes ago. She could almost <em>feel</em> that someone’s glance on her, piercing through her skin, silently demanding answers.</p><p>Nothing else could be done that night. Cleandros had reached his limit and made it abundantly clear he had as soon as he was done with his meal. He reached for the inside of his pocket and removed a cigarette, lighting it and inhaling deeply. That was his way of showing to his children that they should leave the room and disappear upstairs. Lydia did as such, ignoring her mother and stepbrothers who began whining about this and that. She silently headed to her room and got ready for sleep.</p><p>As she settled in her bed and managed to slow her heart that had begun beating out of control, she tried to listen around the house in the off chance something was about to happen.</p><p>Alas, everything went quiet and she couldn’t hear anything anymore…</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>The morning proceeding the horrible previous night didn’t bring Lydia much comfort. She woke up sore, realizing she had willingly spent the entire night in hypertension, allowing her curiosity to take the best of her. As she stood up from her bed and began getting ready for the day, she tried to think about Marcus. She couldn’t help but wonder why his presence had caused everyone so much distress.</p><p>It was clear that Cleandros wasn’t happy about his son’s arrival – the real question was why. Lydia suspected a few reasons; maybe it was because they didn’t get along; maybe it was because much like her, Cleandros had sent Marcus away to get rid of him… The scenarios seemed endless and the possibilities even more so. Each time Lydia came to one conclusion, another popped up in her head, sounding more credible.</p><p>Nevertheless, she knew some things were about to change. That statement alone was perhaps what pricked her curiosity. Naturally, she wasn’t particularly happy about her life back in that house. However, it was settled, up until a certain point, and she would simply have to endure it for a few more years until she could move away. A new person showing up and changing things so drastically could change <em>her</em> plans as well.</p><p>As the sun rose further in the sky, the house got full of noise. One by one, Lydia’s brothers woke up and began shrieking, trying to get ready for Sunday’s mass, a tradition Cleandros seemed to stick by, even though Lydia knew he wasn’t a religious person. She silently sat on the edge of her bed and waited until everyone got ready and finally moved downstairs. When everyone left, closing the door behind them, the house finally settled in the familiar peace of each Sunday morning. The faint voices of her ‘family’ echoed from the street as they slowly moved away and Lydia lied back on her bed.</p><p>She stared at the ceiling; the morning ahead seemed dull, much like every Sunday morning. She tried to figure out something interesting enough to do when all of a sudden, someone knocked on her door. Confused, she looked over and from the shadow under the door saw someone shuffling. Slowly, Lydia stood up and waited behind the door – someone knocked again.</p><p>“Are you awake?”</p><p>Marcus’ voice rang oddly familiar in the silence of the house. Lydia burrowed her eyebrows, trying to think of what the best thing to do was. After another, softer knock, she realized it would be the last he would offer before thinking she was asleep and leaving. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and looked at him.</p><p>“Good morning,” he said.</p><p>“Good morning,” she replied.</p><p>Once again, Marcus was smiling; once again, Lydia couldn’t help but think he was a very handsome man. His eyes, even though they had a gunmetal blue hue, seemed warm and as he kneeled in front of her, unnecessarily so since she was only a little over a head shorter than him, they hinted his concern.</p><p>“How are you?” he asked.</p><p>“I’m all right,” she replied. She now had to look down to notice his face.</p><p>Marcus paused. “I saw everyone leaving,” he said, as if suddenly thinking of a topic worthy of conversation. Lydia looked at him. “How come you didn’t go with them?”</p><p>She shrugged. “I don’t go with them,” she offered flatly.</p><p>“Why not?” he insisted.</p><p>She shrugged again. “Cleandros doesn’t like it when I’m around my younger brothers for no reason,” she offered again. Something in her statement made Marcus widen his eyes.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t he?” he replied, shaking his head. “You seem so lovely!”</p><p>Lydia paused, wondering how to interpret that statement. Marcus seemed like a kind person, the kind of person that would offer someone siege advice and many compliments. She wasn’t used to that. She noticed his kind smile and froze in her position, not being able to find a response good enough.</p><p>“Thank you?” she slowly replied in a shaky voice.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” he replied, understanding her confusion. He suddenly winced.</p><p>“You…” she began saying, stopping immediately after his eyes stared at her again. “You don’t have to do that,” she said, pointing at his knee.</p><p>“I just wanted to appear closer to your height,” he tried to joke. He tried to stand up, using his hands to gain support from the floor, but he winced again. Lydia, instinctively, reached out and helped him up, supporting all his weight on top of her. He looked at her, half-ashamed, and sighed. “I’m still adjusting,” he said, again trying to brush it off as a joke.</p><p>“It’s all right,” she reassured him, offering him a weak smile.</p><p>They remained silent for a few minutes, each looking away.</p><p>“Have you had anything to eat?” he suddenly, pointlessly, asked. She shook her head.</p><p>“I’m not allowed in the kitchen,” she said.</p><p>Marcus stalled, with his mouth half-open. That statement was partially true. Lydia was allowed to enter the kitchen; however, she wasn’t allowed to <em>cook</em> anything. It had all come down to a disastrous attempt of hers to cook something, after a lot of pressure from Cleandros who continued to urge her to follow traits suited for women.</p><p>Lydia had never had any particular interest in cooking, or food whatsoever, and when the other helpers showed her how to make a few things, she realized she actually <em>hated</em> it. Her attempt ended with parts of the kitchen scorched from the small fire she had accidentally set and almost everyone getting a bad food poisoning.</p><p>“It was my fault!” she rushed to add, although Marcus was still too shocked.</p><p>“I see…” he mumbled trying to shake the realization she was actually restricted in her own home. “Well, would you like me to prepare you something to eat?” he asked.</p><p>“Why would you do that?” she suddenly wondered.</p><p>He paused and softly shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind getting to know you a bit,” he said; he seemed honest. “I swear this is the first time I’ve heard your <em>voice</em>,” he added. His eyes changed and became warm again.</p><p>“Oh,” she said, instinctively looking down.</p><p>“Come on,” he urged her and turned around, heading for the stairs.</p><p>Walking behind Marcus while he got down the stairs was almost a herculean task. Lydia slowly followed him, pausing after each step to allow him time to re-adjust. He seemed embarrassed by it, profusely apologizing, despite her continuously reassuring him it was all right – it wasn’t his fault. They finally reached the ground floor and headed for the kitchen, where Marcus softly placed her on a chair and began moving around. He seemed energetic and eager to help, even though he didn’t know where anything was. Lydia softly pointed out where everything he was looking for was and he quietly followed her orders, not daring to speak.</p><p>It was apparent, yet again, he seemed embarrassed. In a relative silence, Marcus prepared a few slices of bread, pouring olive oil and sugar over them. He then poured some milk for the both of them and handed a plate to Lydia; she took it and looked at him as he leaned against the counter and began eating his slices as well. She followed his example.</p><p>“So,” he began saying in between bites. “I heard you’re fourteen?” he asked. It was an odd question, but Lydia softly shook her head.</p><p>“I’m thirteen,” she corrected him. “I’ll be fourteen in May,” she mechanically added.</p><p>“That’s so nice,” he replied with a smile. “And do you go to school?”</p><p>Again, his question felt odd. Lydia raised her eyebrows, realizing he was trying to appeal to her and approach her as he would approach a child. She softly shook her head, nodding, and looked at her plate.</p><p>“So I suppose all those books around here are yours?” he asked again.</p><p>She looked at him. “I like to read,” she offered.</p><p>“I noticed the material was a bit… old,” he noticed.</p><p>She shrugged. “That’s all I’m allowed,” she replied.</p><p>He nodded. “That sounds like such a waste…”</p><p>Marcus began eating again, without breaking their eye contact, however. Lydia, frozen to her position, began examining the man ahead of her, trying to figure out his motives. She looked down on her plate and then back up, shaking her head.</p><p>“Why do you want to talk to me?” she suddenly asked.</p><p>He raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asked back.</p><p>“I don’t know – nobody talks to me…”</p><p>“Again, that seems like a waste,” he mused.</p><p>She looked at him.</p><p>“All right,” he sighed, leaving his glass and taking a step closer to her. “Do you <em>really</em> want to know why I’m here and I’m talking to you?” he asked. He looked deep into Lydia’s eyes; somewhere in the back of her head, she realized he completely understood the effect his eyes had on other people.</p><p>“Yes?” she replied, unsure.</p><p>“You have to keep it a secret,” he suddenly said; he raised his hand and touched her shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze. Several red lights went off inside her head.</p><p>“Okay,” she mumbled.</p><p>“Lydia…” he sighed, taking another step towards her. “I know you weren’t away to boarding school,” he suddenly said. Lydia’s head shot up and her eyes widened.</p><p>“What?” she gasped. His eyes lit in recognition.</p><p>“I know you weren’t away to study… like I know about your father and his money and your mother’s money… I remembered the wedding… You were there; don’t you remember <em>me</em>?”</p><p>Lydia, paralyzed, continued looking at him; the red lights continued flashing.   </p><p>“After the wedding, all of a sudden, you disappeared. I was sent away on a grandma as well and the minute I turned fifteen my father enlisted me… I was away for a while but I… I never stopped thinking about <em>you</em>. I couldn’t stop wondering where you went… I was too far away, I couldn’t do anything about it, I had to survive... But now… now I am <em>back</em>!”</p><p>Lydia continued staring at the man that began spiraling into a monologue, not knowing how to react or whether she should say something. She was frozen in her position, understanding the man knew more than he let out. She paused.</p><p>“Suddenly, I… I heard about the camp,” he said.</p><p>“What?” she breathlessly gasped.</p><p>His eyes, again, lit in recognition. “I couldn’t believe such a place existed. The other soldiers joked about it, it sounded so… fake… And yet, I know my father – I know this is <em>exactly</em> what he would do!”</p><p>“I… I…” she mumbled.</p><p>“I know,” he said, encouragingly squeezing her shoulder again. “Listen, Lydia… My father… he’s not a good man. I <em>know</em> that. I also know I can’t help my brothers but you… I can help <em>you</em>!” he said.</p><p>“I don’t understand,” she gasped.</p><p>“When our neighbor told me about your sudden reappearance, I knew I had to come here…”</p><p>“You came back for me?”</p><p>“Yes!”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because you don’t belong here; you <em>don’t</em> deserve this!”</p><p>Marcus spoke with the passion of man driven by something bigger than him. His excitement confused Lydia and perhaps scared her a bit. She continued looking at him, frozen, only this time for different reasons. He realized her pause and he shook his head, sighing.</p><p>“I don’t know why I feel that,” he confessed. “I suppose it’s because I know you never had a choice. You don’t know any better. But I do. I know this isn’t a life meant for you,” he said, leaning forward, placing his other hand on her other shoulder and deeply staring into her eyes.</p><p>“What?” she gasped again.</p><p>“I know this life isn’t meant for you; and I want to help you <em>escape</em> it!” he said.</p><p>A cold chill went down Lydia’s spine as Marcus spoke his final words. Then, another silence coated the house, only this time, it was a silence purely disturbing…</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- Another flashback chapter. Are you as excited as I am? Probably not, but still...<br/>- If you've reached so far, thank you very, VERY, much for reading!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Some Bonding Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>life is still being a bit much. <br/>so sorry for not posting for a while, but i hope you enjoy this chapter!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The water made a soft sizzling sound as it boiled and Napoleon threw the salt in the pot. Lydia looked at the pot with a somewhat horror; he finally caught her facial expression and shook his head.</p><p>“You know, it’s not going to bite you,” he sarcastically offered.</p><p>Lydia, almost hidden behind him, shook her head. “That’s boiling water; that’s water that’s been boiling… That means it’s hot! That’s <em>hot</em> water!” she mumbled.</p><p>“That was the <em>point</em>,” he tried to argue. She looked at him.</p><p>“Why do I need to cook anyway?”</p><p>A part of him wanted to laugh as Lydia spoke those words and, again with a terrified expression, took a step behind him when the pot made another sizzling sound. However, Napoleon suppressed his smile and shook his head.</p><p>In the week following their very frank conversation, Illya, Napoleon and Gaby had agreed, on varying levels each, that they ought to get to <em>know</em> Lydia. Waverly had been ecstatic when he found out they had patched things up without him intervening, and he had also made a point about the importance of bonding, by subtly mentioning things they could do with each other, in order to get closer together.</p><p>He had confided in Napoleon, after a particularly unpleasant conversation where he once again ‘forbade’ him to make advances towards her, that Lydia needed to be closer to them, so they could appear as a stronger group for their upcoming mission. He had said it begrudgingly, looking at the agent with a warning look; however, Napoleon knew he was right. They had to know how she reacted as a person and what she looked like in daily activities if they ever wished to be perceived as authentic.</p><p>“It’s a good bonding experience,” he finally said.</p><p>She looked at him from over his shoulder. “Cooking is part of your plan to bond with me?” she asked.</p><p>He rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t my first choice either,” he said.</p><p>“What was your first choice?”</p><p>Napoleon turned to look at her, noticing once again her naivety that now, after some getting-to-know-each-other time, could be considered endearing. He forced himself to raise a soft smile as he pointed at the boiling water again and shrugged.</p><p>“It was a joke; it doesn’t matter,” he said. “What matters is that I <em>know</em> how to cook – you <em>don’t</em>. Therefore, we can do that and <em>bond</em>!”</p><p>Lydia burrowed her eyebrows, noticing the pot. “It seems like we can bond doing something else…”</p><p>He looked at her.</p><p>“I mean… don’t you read books? Haven’t you ever seen a film?” she asked.</p><p>He sighed in, partial, relief. “We can do both,” he softly urged her.</p><p>“Or… we can do neither!” she suggested with a soft shrug.</p><p>“Ah, aren’t you funny?” he mused.</p><p>Lydia, again, sighed. “I… I’m <em>really</em> not good at cooking,” she said. “You know, one time I accidentally set fire to the kitchen and everyone who ate what I made got sick…”</p><p>“Oh my <em>God</em>!” he gasped.</p><p>“I told you, I’m not good at this!”</p><p>He paused. “And what do you usually eat?” he asked, genuinely concerned.</p><p>She shrugged. “I prefer things that are easy to cook. I usually like cooking in the oven. It seems… safer,” she argued, again hiding behind him as the water in the pot complained.</p><p>“That still counts as cooking…” he tried to argue after a soft chuckle.</p><p>“Yes, but whatever this is,” she said, pointing at the dozens of ingredients he had laid out on his kitchen’s counter, “seems <em>way</em> more complicated than putting a stake in a pan and in the oven…”</p><p>He looked at her. “Is that really <em>all</em> you’ve been eating?” he asked, shocked. “Your cholesterol must be through the roof!”</p><p>She rolled her eyes. “I obviously eat fruits and vegetables as well…” she replied, crossing her arms on her chest. “I know we need fibers along with protein…”</p><p>“Okay,” he said and took a step away from her. He reached for his second apron and passed it over her head, moving behind her to tie it on her back. “How about we start slow, simply cooking dinner for tonight? I’ll be here the whole time, protecting you from the evil and unforgiving fire!” he said. His voice was playfully sarcastic.</p><p>She rolled her eyes, lifting her arms for him to tie the apron. “You know, you don’t have to be like this…” she sighed.</p><p>“I know I don’t <em>have</em> to,” he replied with a smile. “But it’s really fun if I do!”</p><p>She looked at him.</p><p>“Now, let’s throw the pasta in the boiling water,” he added, still in a playful voice, something akin to a man reading a fairytale to a child.</p><p>“Fine,” she sighed.</p><p>“You see that?” he suddenly asked, pointing something red on the counter. “That’s a chili pepper; don’t touch your eyes after you’ve touched it,” he advised.</p><p>She chuckled as he offered her a knife and began showing her how to mince the vegetables. “This is almost like ‘My Fair Lady’,” she mused. “Except you’re teaching me how to cook and not how to talk…”</p><p>“That <em>was</em> a nice movie,” he noticed, fixing her grip on the knife.</p><p>“Did you know it was based on a play named Pygmalion? It was apparently written at the beginning of the century.”</p><p>“Really? That’s interesting…”</p><p>“Isn’t it?”</p><p>              </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Now, you hold down on the grip forcefully. You don’t want your hold to be soft, or else the recoil <em>will</em> hurt you!”</p><p>Gaby held the gun in her arms and looked at Lydia. “It’s so small…” she noticed, “and yet, it’s so heavy!”</p><p>Lydia smiled. “It’s a TT semi-automatic; I chose it for that purpose…”</p><p>“Why?” Gaby asked.</p><p>Lydia shrugged. “They aren’t used anymore; they were replaced by a new, smaller model,” she said, removing the gun from Gaby’s hand to check on the magazine. “I figured you could try on something small and then move in size as your body adjusts,” she said.</p><p>Gaby raised an excited smile. “What was that large gun in your house? I want to try <em>that</em> one!”</p><p>Lydia raised her eyebrows. “That’s an AK-47. It’s a Kalashnikov… I… I don’t think you’re ready for <em>that</em>…”</p><p>“She is <em>so</em> not ready for that!”</p><p>Illya’s voice rang exasperation as he stood at the back of the shooting range. Lydia slowly turned to look at him being visibly upset, and raised a soft smile.</p><p>“She’ll get there,” she said in a promising tone.</p><p>“I’ll get there,” Gaby mimicked with a smile. Illya closed his eyes and ran both his hands through his hair, taking a seat, defeated.</p><p>“This is so fun,” Napoleon suddenly noticed, sipping his drink.</p><p>“Why are you this upset?” Lydia asked, looking at Illya.</p><p>“This is very unsafe!” he protested under his breath, still trying to contain his anger.</p><p>“Why?” Lydia chuckled. “I’m here; I’ve been dealing with firearms for…” she stopped to count, “almost thirty years,” she realized. “Wow…” she looked down, shocked.</p><p>“You may have, but Gaby hasn’t!” Illya protested. Gaby glared at him.</p><p>“That’s what we’re here to fix!” Lydia confidently said and looked at Gaby again. “Now, hold the gun,” she said, offering the other woman the gun and protectively moving behind her. “Do you remember your practice from yesterday?” she said in Gaby’s ear, in a lower voice.</p><p>“You mean what you said with the stick?” Gaby asked.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“Great!” Lydia smiled. “Hold the gun,” she added, vigorously tightening Gaby’s grip around the gun. “You need to keep your arms up, over the gun, so the recoil doesn’t throw you back. But you don’t want them too high; you need to maintain some elasticity. You need to make sure that your body is prepared for the reaction once you shoot. Clear?”</p><p>Gaby nodded. “Clear.”</p><p>“Great. Put on your earplugs,” Lydia ordered and Gaby complied.</p><p>“Oh my God,” Illya sighed. Lydia ignored him.</p><p>“Now, because this is a pistol and your hands are in the air, your target won’t be as specific as otherwise. So apart from everything else, you also need to balance your shot and find your target, so you’ll need to use your good eye to do that,” Lydia advised.</p><p>“My what?” Gaby asked, relaxing her grip to look at the other woman.</p><p>Lydia paused, looking at Gaby; she then slowly turned around and glared at Illya and Napoleon, who nonchalantly tried to brush it off and pretend they had no idea what she was upset about by looking away. Letting out a heavy and angry sigh, Lydia took the gun from Gaby’s hands.</p><p>“You need to find which eye gives you your best angle. Your eyes may be looking at the same direction, but they don’t have the same… angles. What you need to do is raise your thumb and with both eyes open, try to place it on the corner of a wall. Try that one over there…”</p><p>Gaby nodded, raised her thumb and pointed it at the corner. “What now?”</p><p>“Close your left eye; where is your thumb?”</p><p>“It’s a few inches away from the corner.”</p><p>“Close your right eye; where’s your thumb now?”</p><p>“It’s in the corner!”</p><p>“Great!” Lydia smiled. “That means your ‘good’ eye is the left, so you’ll need to focus on that for now, okay?” she asked before putting her earplugs in as well.</p><p>“Okay,” Gaby replied, also with a smile.</p><p>“Place your arms in order,” Lydia ordered in a soft voice. “Whenever you’re ready…”</p><p>Lydia didn’t have the time to finish her sentence. Gaby fired the first bullet, disturbing the silence of the room. The recoil softly pushed her backwards, making her take a few uncertain steps, however her bullet landed square in the silhouette’s chest.</p><p>“Very good!” Lydia marveled with a smile. “Again!”</p><p>“This is <em>so</em> fun!” Gaby yelled as she positioned herself back in place and began firing again. She emptied the magazine and looked at Lydia for another; the other woman complied, making some small notes on her posture and gestures, eventually sending glares at Illya who continued to look disheveled…</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Illya uncomfortably sat on a chair. Napoleon was in the kitchen, working on dinner by himself. Gaby hadn’t come yet. It was the first time in almost two weeks that Illya and Lydia remained alone in a room. The two agents stole glances of each other, understanding parts of this isolation was because of the other agents’ intentional abandonment. They still had a lot to talk about.</p><p>“How was your day?” Lydia suddenly, softly, asked.</p><p>Illya looked at her. “It was all right,” he said.</p><p>“That’s nice.”</p><p>“How was your day?”</p><p>“It was good,” Lydia replied.</p><p>Another silence settled between them. Both unbearably anti-social, Illya and Lydia were in their small, personal Hell. While trying to figure out another topic they could discuss, Illya felt another annoying pain persisting on his back. He sighed.</p><p>“Are you all right?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” he lied. He reached on his back with his hand and tried applying pressure on his sore muscles. Lydia turned on the couch and looked at him.</p><p>“Are you having troubles with your back?” she asked.</p><p>He looked at her and sighed. “It’s fine,” he lied again.</p><p>“If you want, I can help…”</p><p>He looked at her again. “How?”</p><p>Lydia softly stood up and moved behind him. “You need to relax,” she said. It was then the first time that Illya noticed how soft her voice actually was. She had, overall, a very calming appearance. Something about her, something that seemed almost lethargic at times, immediately calmed everyone in her vicinity. With some reservations, Illya took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders.</p><p>“I’m going to touch you now,” she announced, following it with a chuckle.</p><p>“Okay,” he replied, trying not to let his emotions make him irrational again.</p><p>Slowly, almost scared, Lydia reached for Illya’s back. She softly placed her right hand on his shoulder blade and traced it down, trying to reach the end of it. Using her left hand to hold herself, she softly began circling her finger around the area of his shoulder blade, using mild pressure. A few seconds later, she released her hold and walked in front of him.</p><p>“How is that?” she asked.</p><p>Illya pushed his shoulders back and shook his neck. “That… that’s better,” he admitted, looking up at her in shock.</p><p>She smiled.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” she replied, again with a smile, as she took her seat again.</p><p>Illya paused. He knew he should use that ‘alone’ time to actually get to know her and perhaps understand her, however, every topic that came to his mind seemed… indifferent. He slowly turned to look at her and was surprised to see her casually sitting on Napoleon’s couch. Much like always, she wasn’t wearing any shoes. She had taken a seat, hunkering down, almost as if trying to create a safety space around her own self. Illya took a deep breath and exhaled, making her look at him.</p><p>“Okay,” he asked. “How did you do it?”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“How do you know <em>so</em> much?”</p><p>Lydia raised her eyebrows along with a sly smile. “What?” she chuckled.</p><p>“How… how can you know all this?” he wondered again, turning his body to face her.</p><p>Again, she took a moment to contemplate her answer; she softly shrugged. “You know… that’s not what I was supposed to be,” she suddenly said.</p><p>“What do you mean?” he wondered.</p><p>She shrugged again. “I mean… When I went to the camp… I was… I was a <em>girl</em>. They didn’t need me there to handle guns and throw punches…”</p><p>Suddenly, her words sank in. He looked at her.</p><p>“When I arrived, they began pampering me. I was supposed to be… I guess the English word for it is ‘honey pot’?” she wondered with a soft chuckle. “They wanted to show me everything in order to… seduce men and be attractive. I let them. Then, one day, I… I realized what they were <em>going</em> to <em>make</em> me do and I realized I didn’t want to do it…”</p><p>Again, her words held a meaning much more important than what she let out. Illya continued to look at her as she looked down, having travelled somewhere else.</p><p>“And?” he asked.</p><p>She shrugged again. “I just stormed into the training area and began following instructions. I… I cried a lot, I pleaded. I could see all the boys there and they seemed so… happy. They seemed ecstatic, doing all those ‘manly’ things and playing with guns and punching each other… I knew I couldn’t go home, so I wanted to feel better. I didn’t like feeling… well, like an object,” she said, shaking her head.</p><p>“I see,” Illya mumbled.</p><p>“You don’t,” she suddenly noticed.</p><p>“I know what it’s like having to <em>show</em> you’re worthy,” he softly protested. She sharply looked up. Her glance caught him off guard.</p><p>“I was on thin ice,” she said. “They accepted me in that part of the training only so I could stop throwing tantrums. The only reason they let me do anything was because they knew, they were <em>certain</em>, I was going to <em>fail</em>!”</p><p>“I–”</p><p>“I had to <em>prove</em> to them I was worthy of their attention. I had to prove I belonged there, even though no other boy had to do that. And in order to fit in, I <em>had</em> to be the best. I had to be the smartest, the fastest, the strongest… Because if I failed on <em>one</em> thing, I would have to go back…”</p><p>He sighed. “I had no idea…”</p><p>“It… it just makes me so mad!” she suddenly said.</p><p>“What does?”</p><p>“I don’t know… Everything, I suppose…”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’m simply angry. I’m just angry at how… everything needs to be in comparison to a <em>man</em>. I can’t be anything; I’m everything because I’m a woman. I’m strong – for a woman. I’m smart – for a woman. I’m fast – for a woman… Why can’t I just be… strong and smart and fast?” she wondered.</p><p>Illya, dumbfounded, stared at her.</p><p>“It’s been like this for ever, honestly,” she scoffed. “I hate that. I really do. There’s nothing fun about this, there’s nothing even remotely interesting about it. It’s just a generalization of my capabilities summed up and compared to the fact I’m a woman. It’s so… unfair. That means I have to prove all that I can do just to break even with you. And sure enough I’m not as physically strong as you, but I know how to make up for it in other ways…”</p><p>Again, Illya was at a loss of words.</p><p>“Even Waverly does that sometimes; and he’s so happy when he does, using it as some sort of a compliment to make me feel better. ‘<em>It’s fascinating you can drive a motorcycle, Lydia,</em>’” she said, mimicking a British accent. “It just drives me mad to hear this, as if those things are <em>so</em> complicated for my female body and brain that it’s a <em>miracle</em> I can grasp their basic meaning and do them. It’s as if my strength… comes from my vagina instead of my muscles!” she said. She sighed again, running her hands through her hair and finally looking at him.</p><p>Still, Illya was frozen to his position, listening.</p><p>“Look, I… I know you have no way of knowing this, although maybe <em>now</em> you do, but I have… I have a lot of anger issues and a bit of a temper. And I’m sorry about what I did to you. I shouldn’t have lashed out on you, especially <em>you</em>, because of your condition. It just makes me so angry to hear these things. I can’t… I <em>don’t</em> like it when people insinuate all I am is because I’m a woman…”</p><p>“I… I really don’t know what to say,” he mumbled.</p><p>She looked at him. “Has anyone ever told you, you speak English well, for a <em>Russian</em>?” she suddenly asked.</p><p>He paused. “I… might’ve heard that a few times,” he replied, looking down.</p><p>“It’s almost the same; only that doesn’t make it so that your entire personality is insulted. They actually appreciate your intelligence. That doesn’t happen to me…”</p><p>A sudden pause occurred and both agents remained silent. Illya looked at her, still in that hunkering position, slightly leaning forward, again as if trying to mark her personal safe space.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he suddenly said.</p><p>“What?” she looked at him.</p><p>He sighed. “I know I’ve apologized before; but I’m sorry,” he said, looking at her. “About what happened between us at the party – I’m sorry. I also have anger issues. I hadn’t handled well the fact you’re so… good…”</p><p>“You think I’m good?”</p><p>“You knocked me unconscious,” he pointed out.</p><p>She smiled.</p><p>“It’s hard for me to work in a team,” he suddenly said. “I’ve been on my own for many years as well – I was comfortable like that. Back then, I was <em>indeed</em> the best. It’s going to take me a while to trust you… or accept you’re equally good…”</p><p>Both of them chuckled softly.</p><p>“I’ll work on that,” he said.</p><p>Lydia stared into Illya’s eyes and realized his honesty. She raised a soft smile and nodded, accepting that even though nothing could be accomplished in an instant, they were taking steps towards fixing everything.</p><p>“I’m really sorry for our fight too,” she said.</p><p>He shrugged. “It was the same thing Gaby did when she met me,” he said.</p><p>“Maybe you need to work on your communication skills,” she joked.</p><p>Again, both of them laughed.       </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- My Fair Lady (1964): an American musical drama starring Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison.<br/>- Pygmalion (1913): a play by George Bernard Shaw.<br/>- TT semi-automatic pistol: a part of the Soviet Tokarev TT-33 semi-automatic pistol series. The TT-33 was itself developed as a production-friendly form of the original TT-30 series during World War 2. Furthermore, the TT-30 itself was developed from the world-renowned Colt-Browning M1911 pistol.<br/>- What Lydia does to Illya is the practice of pushing a myofascial trigger point. It's commonly used in chiropractors etc. to help address certain musculoskeletal pain all over the body.</p><p>- If you've reached so far, THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH FOR READING!!!</p>
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